UC-NRLF 


TH6MRDONNR 


BY-6LIZ  ftBe 
ORIGINAL 


OFTH6TUBS 

STURRT'PH€LPS 

ILLUSTRATIONS 


R  OSS-TURN  GR-KNO-GeO-H-CLGMeNTS 


THE  LIBRARY  OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 

DAVIS 


THE  MADONNA  OF  THE  TUBS 


BY 


ELIZABETH    STUART  PHELPS 


WITH  FORTY-THREE  ORIGINAL  ILLUSTRATIONS 

BY 

ROSS  TURNER  AND  GEORGE  H.  CLEMENTS 


BOSTON  AND    NEW  YORK 
HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND   COMPANY 


1887 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


Copyright,  1886, 

Br  ELIZABETH  STUART  PIIELPS  AND 
IIOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  &  CO, 

All  rights  reserved. 


The  Riverside  Press,  Cambridge  : 
Electrotyped  and  Printed  by  H.  O.  Houghton  &  Co. 


LIST   OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 


PAGE 
"THEY     WAS     FRIZ     TO      THE       OARS,      SO     I      HAD     TO      KEEP 

A-ROWIN'  ': Frontispiece 

HEAD-PIECE        .         . 1 

"  ONE'S  ESPECIAL  REEF  is  POPULATED  "  3 

TAIL-PIECE 6 

"A  CONSPICUOUS  FIGURE  ON  THE  CLIFF'S  EDGE         .        .  7 

INITIAL       .        . 9 

HENRY  SALT 10 

"WiTH  A  MIGHTY  SHOVE" 12 

INITIAL .  13 

FAIRHARBOR  COTTAGES 14 

"  AGAINST  THE  BIG  BOWLDERS  "  .        .        .        ...  15 

"ELLEN  JANE  AND  THE  WEEKLY  WASH"       .        .        .  17 

INITIAL 20 

SHELLS .22 

THE  IRONING-TABLE 24 

RAFE  AT  THE  WINDOW 27 

"  NOW   AND   THEN    THE    BOY    JOGGED    THE    CRADLE    WITH    HIS 

FOOT"      . 29 

THE  HEADLAND 31 

MRS.  SALT  AND  RAFE 35 

INITIAL  37 


vi  LIST  OF  ILLUSTRATIONS. 

"  FOR  THE  SEA  BROKE  OVER  'EM  " 39 

"  SHE  MET  THE  FISHERMAN  AND  HIS  CHILDREN  "  .        .        .43 
"GiVE  THE  WIND  TIME" ..45 

"PULL   FOR    THE    SHORE,    SAILOR5'                   46 

"THE  OTHER  BABY" 48 

INITIAL 49 

A  STREET  IN  FAIRHARBOR  50 

• 

INITIAL  • 51 

FISHERMEN 52 

INITIAL 54 

"ALL  HENRY'S  MENDING  WAS  TEARFULLY  AND  EXQUISITELY 

DONE" 55 

"A  LITTLE  FIGURE  HIT  HER,  HURRYING  BY  UPON  A  LITTLE 

CRUTCH ...  59 

TAIL-PIECE  .  63 

INITIAL 64 

INITIAL 65 

THE  FLAG  AT  HALF-MAST  .......  66 

INITIAL 68 

ON  THE  GRAND  BANKS 76 

INITIAL 85 

HEAD-PIECE 91 

TAIL-PIECE 93 

FINIS  94 


THE  MADONNA  OF  THE  TUBS. 


//  OW  there !  "  said  Ellen  Jane  Salt; 
"  I  'm  tired  seein'  a  passel  of 
folks  squealin'  at  a  snail  shell." 
It  happened  that  much  the  same  view  of  the 
case  was  occupying  Miss  Helen  Bitter  at  the  same 
moment ;  the  chief  difference  being  that  the  sum 
mer  boarder's  view  was  not  dependent  upon  ex 
pression,  while  that  of  the  "  native "  (as  usual) 
was. 

It  was  what  is  called  a  burning  fog  that  day. 
Miss  Ritter  was  sitting  on  the  cliff  under  a  Japa 
nese  umbrella.  Twenty  people  were  sitting  under 
Japanese  umbrellas.  Hers,  she  thanked  Heaven, 
was  of  ivory-color,  plain  and  pale.  No  Turkey  red 


2  THE  MADONNA    OF  THE   TUBS. 

flaunted  fiercely  nor  purple  mandarin  sprawled  hys 
terically  against  indigo  skies  above  her  individual 
head.  There  is  a  comfort  in  distinction,  even  if 
it  go  no  farther  than  a  paper  sunshade.  Miss 
Hitter  enjoyed  the  added  idiosyncrasy  of  sitting 
under  hers  alone.  She  was  often  alone. 

In  July  the  seaside  is  agreeable;  in  September, 
irresistible ;  in  October,  intoxicating.  In  August, 
one  does  not  understand  it :  one  comes  up  sud 
denly  against  its  "  other  side,"  as  against  pecul 
iarities  in  the  character  of  a  friend  known  for 
years,  and  unexpectedly  putting  the  affection  to  a 
vital  test. 

In  August  the  sun  goes  out,  and  the  thick 
weather  comes  in.  The  landlady  is  tired,  and  the 
waitress  slams  the  plate ;  the  fog-bell  tolls,  and 
the  beach  is  sloppy ;  the  fog-whistles  screech,  and 
one  may  not  go  a-sailing ;  the  puddings  and  sauces 
have  grown  familiar,  and  one  has  read  too  many 
novels  to  stand  another,  and  yet  not  enough  to 
force-  one  back,  for  life's  sake,  on  a  "  course  of 
solid  reading."  In  August  one's  next  neighbor  is 
sure  it  was  a  mistake  not  to  spend  the  season  at 
the  mountains.  In  August  the  babies  on  the  same 
corridor  are  sick.  In  August  one  has  discovered 


THE  MADONNA    OF   THE    TUBS.  3 

where  the  milk  is  kept,  and  frightful  secrets  of 
the  drainage  are  gossiped  in  ghastly  whispers  by 
the  guests,  who  complain  of  the  dinners  when  the 
young  married  lady  who  rowed  by  moonlight  with 
another  fellow  has  left  the  place  and  a  temporary 
deficiency  of  scandal.  In  August  one's  own  par 
ticular  beach  is  swarming  and  useless,  one's  espe 
cial  reef  is  populated  and  hideous,  nay,  one's  very 


crevice  in  the  rock  is  discovered  and  mortgaged 
to  the  current  flirtations,  and  all  nature,  which  had 
seemed  to  be  one's  homestead,  becomes  one's  exile. 
In  August  there  are  hops,  and  one  wants  to  go 
away.  In  August  there  are  flies,  and  the  new 
boarder, 


4  THE  MADONNA    OF   THE    TUBS. 

It  is  the  new  boarder  who  is  overaudible  about 
the  snail  shells.  Down  there  in  the  gorge,  where 
the  purple  trap  glitters  at  half-tide  in  great  vol 
canic  veins  that  seem  to  pulsate  yet  through  the 
cliff  with  the  fire  imprisoned  there  —  who  knows 
when  ?  —  and  where  the  beaded  brown  kelp  deep 
ens  to  bronze,  and  then  runs  to  tarnished  gold  in 
the  wet,  rich,  pulpy  recession  of  the  ebb,  the  new 
boarder  aboundeth.  So  the  snail  —  brown,  green, 
orange,  lemon,  gray,  and  white  —  the  tiny  shells, 
mere  flecks  of  color,  moved  sluggishly  by  their 
cell  of  hidden  consciousness  and  will,  like  certain 
larger  lives  that  beneath  a  mask  of  stagnation  pal 
pitate.  The  snails,  as  I  say,  interest  the  new 
boarder.  He  saunters  down  in  groups,  in  clans, 
in  hordes,  defiling  through  the  trap  gorge  —  dis 
proportionately  femnine,  sparsely  but  instructively 
masculine,  and  eternally  infantile.  He  views  the 
attractions  of  the  spot  first  enthusiastically,  then 
calmly,  now  indifferently,  and  drifts  away  at  the 
third  stage  of  feeling,  possibly  an  object  of  curios 
ity  or  envy,  in  his  turn,  to  the  snail,  who  has  to 
stay.  The  first  day  he  screams  (I  must  be  par 
doned  if  I  use  the  generic  masculine  pronoun  in 
this  connection)  at  the  snails ;  the  second  day  he 


THE  MADONNA    OF  THE   TIJBS.  5 

observes  them  without  screaming ;  the  third  he 
doesn't  observe  them  at  all.  His  number  is  in 
finite,  and  his  place  is  never  vacant.  His  lady 
types  wear  wild  roses  in  their  belts,  invariably 
succeeded  by  daisies,  and  rigorously  followed  by 
golden -rod.  It  is  an  endless  procession  of  the 
Alike,  or,  we  may  say,  of  the  great  North  Amer 
ican  Average. 

Decidedly  on  the  fortunate  side  of  the  average 
is  the  element  that  is  creeping  into  Fairharbor  — 
one  should  say  stepping  in,  for  that  end  of  averages 
never  creeps,  to  be  sure  —  the  element  not  vocif 
erous  over  snails,  and  scantily  given  to  floral  dec 
oration  ;  an  element  represented,  for  instance,  by 
Miss  Ritter,  who,  seeking  Fairharbor  for  many  a 
summer  because,  among  other  reasons,  it  gave  her 
that  closest  kind  of  seclusion,  isolation  in  a  crowd 
with  which  one  has  not  historic  social  relations, 
has  sadly  discovered  of  late  that  her  dear,  rough, 
plain  rocks  and  waves  and  boarding-houses  are  be 
coming  semi-fashionable,  with  a  threat  even  of  clas 
sically  abandoning  the  compound.  Already  Fair- 
harbor  has  her  hotel  and  her  daily  steamer,  her 
band  and  her  "  distinguished  visitors/'  her  mythical 
company,  organized  to  sweep  up  the  huge  solitudes 


6  TtiE  MADONNA  OF  TH&  TUBS. 

at  five  dollars  a  foot,  roadway  forty  feet  wide 
thrown  in,  and  wells  if  you  can  find  any  water  in 
them.  Already  she  has  her  landaus  and  her  toi 
lets,  her  French  maids  and  her  ladies  who  protect 
the  complexion.  Already  the  faithful  old  stagers, 
haughtily  unconscious,  are  stared  at  for  their  thick 
boots  and  beach  dresses  and  gorgeous  coats  of  tan, 
and  their  way  of  sitting  in  the  sand  like  crabs 
after  their  vigorous  baths,  in  which  they  do  not 
jump  up  and  down,  but  swim  sturdily,  battling  with 
the  sharp  North  shore  waters,  and  not  expected  to 
scream. 


"A  CONSPICUOUS   FIGURE   ON  THE   CLIFF'S  EDGE.''     See  page  9. 


THE  MADONNA    OF  THE   TUBS.  9 

ISS  RITTER,  a  conspicuous 
figure  on  the  cliff's  edge 
above  the  lava  gorge,  might 
be  called  an  unconscious  link 
between  Fairharbor  past  and 
Fairharbor  to  be,  possessing 
perhaps  the  better  points  in  both  types  of  "  sum 
mer  people,"  luxuriously  dissatisfied  with  them, 
with  herself,  with  the  world,  even  just  now  with 
Fairharbor.  In  her  white  flannel  dress  and  white 
hat,  with  the  pale  flame-colored  tie  at  her  throat, 
and  the  reflection  from  the  pale  sunshade  upon  her, 
she  had  a  select,  almost  severe  look,  which  was  not 
lessened  by  any  depreciation  of  effect  in  motion 
when  she  rose  and  walked.  She  had  a  stately  walk, 
and  reminded  one  of  a  calla,  as  she  turned  her  head 
slowly  and  stood  full  to  view,  tall  and  serious. 

There  was  no  sunset  that  night ;  it  was  a  dog- 
day,  damp  and  dead ;  the  fog  had  thickened,  and 
was  crawling  in  like  fate ;  the  bell  tolled  from  the 
light-house  two  miles  away,  and  the  east  wind  bore 
the  sound  steadily  in. 

Already  the  boarder  children,  who  insisted  on 
going  in  the  skiff,  could  not  be  seen  an  eighth 


10       THE  MADONNA  OF  THE  TUBS. 

of  a  mile  out  at  the  island's  edge  beyond  the  lava 
gorge ;  and  the  fisherman,  whose  children  knew 
better,  pushed  them  with  a  kiss  from  his  knees  as 
he  drew  in  his  dory  for  the  rescue,  to  comfort  a 
distracted  parent  (in  a  red  parasol)  and  another 


one  (rumored  to  be  a  clergyman,  but  just  now  in 
a  bathing  suit),  whose  inharmonious  opinions  but 
harmonious  anxiety  were  the  excitement  of  the  hour 
upon  the  beach.  The  bathing  suit  had,  unhappily 
for  him,  allowed  the  children  to  go.  The  red  par 
asol  had  always  said  they  would  be  drowned. 


THE  MADONNA  OF  THE  TUBS.       11 

"  Don't  ye  fret/'  said  the  fisherman,  with  a  slow 
grin.  ((  They  stole  my  old  punt,  an'  she  leaks  so 
't  '11  keep  'em  busy  bailin',  and  they  can't  get  fur. 
I'll  fetch  'em  this  time,  but  next  time  keep  'em 
to  hum.  Why,  there  ain't  a  dog  in  Fairharbor  'd 
set  out  rowin'  thick  as  this,  'thout  he  hed  to  go 
for  a  doctor  or  see  to  his  trawls ;  he  'd  knoiv  bet 
ter.  But  you  land-lubbers  never  do  know  noth- 
in' ;  you  don't  know  enough  to  know  when  to  be 
skeered.  —  H'  are  ye,  Miss  Ritter  ?  "  as  she  passed 
him,  suddenly  gliding  down  the  cliff,  and  up  the 
wet,  uncordial  beach. 

"  That 's  like  you,  Henry.  Your  tongue  is  bound 
to  take  the  edge  off  your  good  deeds  somehow,  like 
plated  silver,  whereas  you  know,  half  the  time,  it 's 
the  solid  thing  underneath.  Now  you  '11  scour  the 
ocean  after  those  children,  and  do  just  as  well  as 
if  you  had  n't  scolded  about  it." 

"  Better  —  a  sight  better  !  "  chuckled  Henry. 
He  ran  splashing  through  the  water  over  his  huge 
red  leather  boots,  pushing  the  dory  off  with  a 
mighty  shove.  He  moved  the  oars  with  a  fisher 
man's  superb  leisure ;  his  massive  figure  looked  as 
if  it  were  etched  for  a  moment  on  the  mist,  whose 
color  and  the  color  of  his  old  oil-clothes  blurred 


12 


THE  MADONNA    OF  THE   TUBS. 


together  till  there  seemed  to  be  only  the  outline 
of  a  man.  As  boat  and  boatman  grew  dimmer  to 
the  view,  the  ghostly  rower  turned  and  shot  back 
one  parting  word  at  the  red  parasol :  — 


"  Look  a-here !  Jest  you  stop  yowlin',  won't  ye  ? 
You  '11  sheer  them  young  'uns  overboard.  Ef  you 
want  me  to  fetch  'em,  lemme  do  it  in  peace." 

With  this,  the  fog,  with  whose  terrible  and  mys 
terious  swiftness  no  man  may  intermeddle,  shut 
down. 

"  Like  the  curtain  of  death,"  Miss  Bitter  thought, 
looking  over  her  shoulder,  when  man  and  boat  and 
voice  had  vanished  utterly.  She  was  not  given  to 
too  much  consideration  of  the  lot  of  her  fellow- 


THE  MADONNA    OF   THE   TUBS.  13 

men,  perhaps  ;  her  sympathies  were  well  regulated, 
but  not  acute.  Although  from  Boston,  she  was  not 
a  philanthropist  by  avocation ;  she  took  people  as 
they  came,  or  went — good-naturedly  enough,  but 
not  uncomfortably ;  she  had  a  touch  of  the  irre 
sponsibility  belonging  to  professional  artists ;  she 
herself  did  not  even  paint  tea-cups. 

N  Fair  harbor,  for  instance,  it 
would  have  been  easy  to  make 
one's  self  miserable.  She  meant 
to  treat  her  neighbors  as  a  lady 
should ;  but  why  cultivate  neu 
ralgia  of  the  emotions  over  the 
fate  of  the  fleets  ?  It  was  therefore  hardly  char 
acteristic,  and  struck  her  for  the  moment,  in  an 
artistic  sense,  curiously,  as  part  of  the  "  effect "  of 
the  whole  wet,  dull  afternoon,  that  she  should  feel 
almost  moved  by  the  e very-day  incident  of  Henry 
and  the  dory  and  the  fog.  He  seemed  to  her 
suddenly  like  a  symbol  of  the  piteous  Fairharbor 
life ;  as  one  puts  an  eagle,  an  arrow,  a  shield,  or 
whatever,  upon  the  seal  of  a  commonwealth  or 
upon  a  coin,  so  Fairharbor  might  take  Henry  ;  so 
she  gave  up  her  vigorous  young  life  that  "  went 


14       THE  MADONNA  OF  THE  TUBS. 

down  to  the  sea  in  ships ; "  and  so,  ghosts  before 
their  time,  her  doomed  men  trod  her  shores. 

"  I  believe  I  must  stop  and  see  Ellen  Salt  about 
some  laces,"  said  Miss  Bitter,  uncertainly,  to  the 
lady  boarder,  —  with  daisies  and  a  mandarin  par 
asol,  now  pulpy  with  the  fog,  and  offering  acute 
temptation  to  stick  one's  fingers  between  the  ribs, 
—  the  lady  who  joined  her  on  the  beach.  It  did 
not  matter  about  the  laces,  but  it  mattered  to  have 


to  talk  to  that  stack  of  daisies  just  then.  The  la 
dy's  leather  belt  was  tight,  and  the  flowers  seemed 
to  gasp  as  if  they  had  got  into  corsets. 

This  was  the  lady  who  always  complained  of  the 
breakfasts,  and  knew  how  often  every  gentleman 
in  the  hotel  came  to  see  his  wife.  She  was  an 
idle,  pretty,  silly  thing  ;  abnormally,  one  might  say 
inhumanly,  luxurious.  She  wore  thirty  thousand 


THE  MADONNA    OF   THE    TUBS. 


15 


dollars'  worth  of  diamonds,  because  it  was  under 
stood  she  was  afraid  to  leave  them  in  the  hotel 
rooms.  She  gave  three  dollars  to  the  subscription 
for  the  Fairharbor  widows  of  two  hundred  men 
drowned  last  year :  she  had  acquired  a  theory  that 
one  must  not  make  paupers. 


As  Helen  Hitter  struck  off  alone  through  the 
fog,  down  the  lane,  behind  the  wild-rose  thicket, 
under  the  willow-trees,  and  against  the  big  bowl 
ders,  to  Mrs.  Salt's  little,  old,  unpainted  cottage 

—  picturesquely    gray,    and    proportionally    damp 

—  she  was  thinking  neither  of  the   daisy  and  dia 
mond  boarder  nor  of  two  hundred  drowned  fish- 


16  THE  MADONNA    OF  THE   TUBS. 

ermen,  nor  even  of  Ellen  Jane  and  the  weekly 
wash. 

So  far  as  her  thoughts  had  organization  rather 
than  pulp,  and  might  have  been  nautically  termed 
more  conscious  than  jelly-fish,  she  was  thinking  — 
still  in  that  same  amusing,  outside,  artistic  sense  — 
of  herself;  looking  on,  as  she  looked  on  at  the 
summer  people  and  the  fishermen,  with  an  unim- 
passioned,  critical  eye. 

Too  well  we  all  know  those  mad  or  inspired 
moments  (generally  ours  on  dull  afternoons)  when 
we  seem  to  catch  up  the  whole  of  life  at  a  handful, 
and  fling  it  from  us  utterly  in  a  kind  of  scorn  that 
may  be  wholly  noble  or  trivial,  according  to  the 
impulse  of  the  motion  or  the  direction  of  the  aim. 

She,  Helen  Ritter,  of  Beacon  Street,  Boston, 
twenty-eight  years  old,  an  orphan,  a  Brahman  (rich, 
if  one  stopped  to  think  of  that),  and  a  beauty, 
member  of  Trinity  Church  and  the  Brain  Club, 
subscriber  to  the  Provident  Association,  and  stock 
holder  in  the  Athenaeum,  fond  of  her  maid,  her 
relatives,  her  bric-a-brac,  and  her  way,  walking  to 
her  washer-woman's  through  the  fog,  and  suffering 
one  of  these  supreme  moments,  could  have  flung 
her  whole  personality  into  Nirvana  or  the  ocean  by 


THE  MADONNA    OF   THE   TUBS.  19 

one  sweep  of  her  white-clad  arm  that  day,  and  felt 
well  rid  of  it.  To  be  sure,  nothing  had  happened. 

That,  perhaps,  was  the  trouble  ? 

"I  ain  a  type,"  said  the  young  woman  aloud. 
"  I  am  nothing  but  a  type ;  I  have  no  '  use  nor 
name  nor  fame  '  under  the  skies,  beyond  standing 
for  the  representative,  like  people  that  make  the 
groups  in  tourists'  photographs.  I  may  thank 
Heaven  if  I  don't  do  it  in  artistically,  I  suppose ; 
and  meanwhile  pay  my  laundress.  I  wonder  why 
I  keep  on  coming  to  Fair  harbor  ?  " 

Why,  indeed  ?  Helen  Ritter  to  Helen  Ritter,  in 
the  scorn  of  her  heart  and  the  depth  of  it,  would 
give  no  answer  to  that  question,  but  hit  it  with  her 
fine,  cool  look  as  she  would  any  other  social  in 
truder,  and  pass  it  by  upon  the  other  side.  She 
was  young  for  life  to  have  come  to  what  she  called 
its  end. 

"Yet  the  light  of  a  whole  life  dies, 
When  love  is  done," 

sang  the  musical  boarder  in  the  hotel  parlor  beyond 
the  rose  thicket.  The  east  wind  bore  the  sound 
over  the  bowlders,  through  the  willow  boughs,  driv 
ing  with  the  fog,  as  if  both  had  been  ghosts  from 
the  hidden  sea. 


20  THE  MADONNA    OF   THE   TUBS. 


cling  to  the  old  spot  where  the 
light  of  life  had  once  been  kin 
dled  and  quenched  ?  Why  dog, 
like  a  spirit  unreleased,  the  haunts 
of  that  blessed  and  accursed  vital 
ity?  No,  no.  She  could  not  curse 
it  :  no.  Whom  or  wliat  had  she  to  curse  ?  Fate, 
perhaps,  or  accident,  or  a  man's  terrible  dullness  of 
intellect  before  the  nature  of  the  woman  he  loves, 
or  her  own  doom,  or  her  own  "way"  —  that  un 
lucky  way  which  as  often  wrought  her  mischief 
from  being  misunderstood  as  from  being  to  blame, 
but  which  was  none  the  less  likely  to  be  to  blame 
for  that. 

"The  mind  has  a  thousand  eyes," 

sang  the  summer  boarder  with  laboriously  acceler 
ated  emphasis,  for  the  gentlemen  had  come  in  from 
the  beach,  and  were  listening, 

"  The  mind  has  a  thousand  eyes, 

And  the  heart  but  one, 
Yet  the  light  of  a  whole  life  dies, 
When  love  is  done." 

"  Well,  there  !  "  said  Ellen  Jane  Salt,  "  do  come 
in  out  of  this  thick  weather.     Fog  's  good  for  your 


THE   MADONNA    OF   THE   TUBS.  21 

flannel  dress ;  bleach  it  out ;  but  my  !  ain't  you 
sloppy  ?  You  got  drabbled  on  the  beach.  Just 
you  step  up  agen  my  tubs  and  let  me  wash  out 
that  hem  o'  your'n  jest  as  you  be.  I  '11  stand  you 
up  to  the  stove  after,  and  dry  you  up  a  mite,  too, 
and  iron  you  off,  and  you  '11  be  slick  as  ever.  Pity ! 
I  did  you  up  only  last  Saturday,  you  know  — 
There  !  I  'm  drove  to  death,  but  I  can't  stand 
seein'  good  washin'  spoiled  like  that  —  and  you, 
too,  punctual  as  you  are  with  the  price  —  so  many 
dozen,  and  so  late  in  the  season  besides.  No ;  the 
laces  was  n't  extry,  thank  you.  I  'd  be  ashamed  if 
I  could  n't  do  a  bit  of  valingcens  for  you.  But 
there  !  I  was  up  till  two  o'clock  this  mornin'  iron- 
in'  Mrs.  Hannibal  P.  Harrowstone's  fluted  nigh'- 
gownds  (thread  lace,  every  scrap).  She  had  six. 
I  'm  drove  out  of  my  wits,  and  Raf  e  had  to  have 
one  of  his  spells  at  three,  poor  little  fellow !  just 
as  I  'd  got  a  snooze  in  my  close  atop  of  the  bed 
spread,  for  it  was  so  hot  with  the  heavy  ironin'  fire, 
and  us  so  near  the  cook-stove.  There  !  " 

Ellen  Jane  Salt  was  a  little  woman,  thin  and 
keen  of  outline;  the  kind  of  woman  sure  to  marry 
a  large  man,  and  rule  him  roundly.  She  had  very 
bright  blue  eyes,  sunken  with  want  of  sleep ;  and 


22  THE  MADONNA   OF  THE   TUBS. 

the  chiseling  of  care  about  her  temples  and  her 
mouth  told  that  her  first  youth  had  passed  in  hand- 
to-hand  struggles  with  life,  from  which  middle  age 
gave  no  prospect  of  releasing  her.  The  line  be 
tween  her  lips  indicated  that  nature  had  given  her 
a  sweet  temper,  which  experience  might  push  hard 
now  and  then  under  stress  of  circumstances.  She 
had  what  it  would  be  sufficient  to  call  a  busy  voice, 
pitched  like  the  American  feminine  voice  of  her 
class,  but  without  a  shrewish  note  ;  on  the  whole, 
making  allowance  for  the  national  key,  what  might 
be  called  a  motherly  or  wifely  voice.  She  had  the 
curious,  watching  look  common  to  the  women  of 
Fairharbor,  acquired  from  that  observation  of  the 
sea  with  which  the  summer  boarder  is  unfamiliar. 
A  little  anxious  running  down  to  the  beach  now, 


or  the  wharf  then,  when  the  fog  sets  in  ;  a  little 
more  restless  climbing  of  the  cliff  when  the  wind 
rises ;  this .  peering  for  the  dory  before  dawn,  or 


THE  MADONNA    OF   THE   TUBS.  23 

searching  for  the  sail  at  dusk,  or  scanning  the  head 
land  by  moonlight,  or  asking  the  dead  of  night  to 
give  the  absent  head-light  to  straining  eyes,  or  beat 
ing  about  over  the  downs  in  the  November  gales 
with  the  glass  which  trembles  in  the  aching  arm  be 
fore  the  blank  horizon  —  these  things,  we  see,  give 
optical  results  which  no  social  oculist  has  distinctly 
classified.  For  the  rest,  Ellen  Jane  Salt  wore  a  navy 
blue  calico  dress,  well  fitted  (by  herself)  to  a  pleas 
ant  figure,  and  tucked  up  over  the  hips  under  a 
gray  crash  washing  apron,  on  which  she  wiped  her 
steamed  and  dripping  hands  to  give  Miss  Ritter 
greeting.  There  was  a  strip  of  tourist's  ruffling  in 
the  neck  of  the  navy  blue  calico,  and  the  house, 
like  the  mistress,  was  as  neat  as  a  honey-comb. 
One  might  almost  say,  without  straining  a  point, 
that  there  was  a  certain  poetry  in  her  avocation ;  for 
Ellen  Jane  Salt's  old  cottage  seemed  to  the  chance 
visitor  a  kind  of  temple  of  cleanliness.  The^  small 
kitchen  was  sunny  and  sweet ;  and  despite  the  dis 
proportion  of  the  ironing-table  and  stove  to  the  en 
vironment,  the  only  litter  seemed  to  be  the  signs  of 
the  presence  of  children,  which  abounded.  Then  it 
must  be  distinctly  understood  that  Mrs.  Salt  had 
a  "  parlor."  What  New  -  Englander  has  not  ? 


24 


THE  MADONNA    OF  THE   TUBS. 


Whether  his  debts  be  paid  or  his  soul  saved  we 
need  not  stop  to  inquire;  he  will  attend  to  that 
presently ;  meanwhile,  a  parlor  or  your  life  ! 

In  Mrs.  Salt's  parlor  was  a  carpet  of  a  high-art 
pattern  under  reduced  conditions  —  olive  green,  to 


be  sure,  playing  at  geometry  with  Indian  red,  and 
sepia  brown  and  black ;  it  was  an  excellent  car 
pet,  and  protected  by  a  strip  of  oil-cloth  nailed 
across  like  a  little  plank  walk  for  the  children  to 
travel  over  to  the  bedroom  beyond.  There  was  a 
new  paper  on  the  walls  of  the  parlor,  very  clean 


THE  MADONNA  OF  THE  TUBS.       25 

and  very  gilt  (olive  green,  of  course),  and  the  price 
per  roll  such  a  trifle  that  a  cod-fish  could  afford 
it,  as  Mrs.  Salt  had  often  said ;  the  paperer  being 
Ellen  Jane  herself,  at  midnight,  after  a  day's  wash 
ing,  when  "  he  "  was  asleep. 

In  the  parlor  were  a  black  hair-cloth  sofa,  a 
centre-table  with  a  red  cloth,  a  Bible,  a  copy  of 
66  The  Youth's  Companion,"  an  old  "  Harper,"  and 
a  patent-medicine  almanac  ;  a  chromo  called  "  In 
nocence  Asleep  "  (presented  with  a  pound  of  green 
tea,  and  since  framed  in  gilt),  and  a  framed  pho 
tograph  of  Raf  e  ;  but  when  we  come  to  Raf  e  — 

Meanwhile,  in  the  parlor  there  was  also  "  an  in 
strument."  Mrs.  Salt  had  privately  meant  it  to  be 
a  piano  ;  but  Mr.  Salt  had  a  bad  year  haddocking, 
and  that  overgrown  ambition  was  silently  set  aside. 
At  any  rate,  it  was  an  instrument.  It  did  not  mat 
ter  whether  one  called  it  a  melodeon  or  a  cabinet 
organ,  or  whatever  ;  the  musical  future  of  the  Salt 
family  was  thus  assured.  In  a  narrower  personal 
sense  the  instrument  was  intended  for  Emma  Eliza, 
who  took  music  lessons  in  prosperous  seasons,  and 
played  —  to  Rafe.  Emma  Eliza  was  the  oldest 
daughter,  and  Rafe  was  the  youngest  son.  Mrs. 
Salt  had  six  children  —  two  babies.  Rafe  was  a 
cripple. 


26  THE  MADONNA    OF   THE   TUBS. 

"  Was  n't  that  Mrs.  Hannibal  P.  Harrowstone 
comin'  up  the  beach  alongside  of  you  ? "  began 
Mrs.  Salt  promptly.  She  ironed  as  she  talked, 
making  small  ceremony  of  Miss  Hitter,  who  was 
an  old  customer,  and  regarded  quite  as  one  of 
the  family.  Mrs.  Salt's  irons  thumped  when  she 
was  tired  or  excited,  though  she  would  have  you 
understand  she  knew  how  to  iron  scientifically 
and  silently,  and  no  fuss  about  it.  To-night  she 
thumped  a  good  deal. 

"  She  's  a  good  customer,  Mrs.  Hannibal  P.  Har 
rowstone.  But  there !  When  I  count  the  yards 
and  yards  on  her  petticoats  —  dollar  a  yard,  every 
mite  of  it  —  and  her  nigh'-gownds  solid  [thump] 
valingcens,  you  might  say,  and  them  di'mon's 
[thump],  and  beef -tea  for  Rafe  goes  so  fast  at 
twenty-five  cents  a  pound  durin'  his  spells;  and 
there  !  [thump].  Why,  Miss  Bitter,  I  did  up  one 
dress  for  that  woman  last  week  would  ha'  paid  our 
rent  for  a  whole  year,  by  the  Sassinfras  Bitters 
Almanac ;  and  Biram  so  sharp  on  his  rent,  too, 
luck  or  none ;  an'  if  a  man  makes  eighty  dollars 
to  his  trip  or  eight  cents,  it 's  all  the  same  to  Biram 
come  rent-day.  But  there  !  that 's  fishin'.  I  ain't 
complainin',  and  thanks  to  mercy  I  can  stand  at 


THE  MADONNA    OF  THE   TUBS. 


27 


the  wash-tub  day  an'  night  for  'em  long  's  there  's 
anything  to  wash.  Six  weeks  ain't  much,  now,  is 
it  ?  Pretty  short  season ;  and  no  more  for  a  wo 
man  to  do  in  Fairharbor  rest  of  the  year  than 
there  is  for  a  clam.  We  're  like  'em,  I  guess  — 
just  stick  in  the  sand  and  stay  there.  But  there ! 


I  ain't  complainin'  either ;  and  six  children  do  want 
a  sight  of  things  from  Janooary  to  Janooary,  as 
you  'd  know,  if  you  'd  ever  had  one  ;  and  Rafe  "  — 

"  Rafe  looks  pale,  I  thought,"  interposed  Miss 
Ritter,  glancing  into  the  "  parlor,"  where  a  little, 
bent  figure  sat  in  a  high,  padded  chair  by  the  win 
dow. 

The  child  had  a  delicate  face,  refined  by  suffer- 


28  THE  MADONNA    OF  THE    TUBS. 

ing,  and  a  singularly  sweet  mouth ;  he  had  long 
blonde  hair,  which  fell  over  his  face  as  he  stooped. 
There  were  no  other  children  visible,  except  the 
baby,  asleep  in  the  crib  or  cradle  at  the  little 
cripple's  feet.  Now  and  then  the  boy  jogged  the 
cradle  with  his  foot,  as  he  bent  over  his  work  or 
play. 

"  It 's  your  scrap-book,"  said  Mrs.  Salt,  in  a  low 
voice  —  "  that  one  you  gave  him  with  the  chromos 
and  magazines  when  you  come  in  June.  You  never 
see  such  a  sight  of  comfort  as  that  child  gets  out 
o'  them  things — bless  your  soul  for  it!  It's  the 
prettiness  that  pleases  him.  The  boarders  give 
him  money  sometimes,  but  he  don't  pay  the  same 
attention  to  it  —  it  ain't  that,  you  know.  There  's 
a  kind  of  prettiness  about  E-af e  —  like  the  ladies 
and  gentlemen  I  do  for.  He  ain't  like  a  fisher 
man,  Rafe  ain't,  and  so  sweet  of  his  temper  in  all 
his  spells.  Now  last  night  never  a  word.  His 
father  and  me  hate  to  see  Rafe  suffer." 

"  I  saw  Henry  on  the  beach  just  now,"  observed 
Miss  Ritter,  backing  up  by  the  stove,  as  she  was 
bidden,  to  dry  her  white  flannel  dress  hem  after 
Mrs.  Salt's  professional  treatment  thereof.  The 
young  lady  had  quite  dignity  enough  even  for 


THE  MADONNA  OF  THE  TUBS.       3l 

this  awkward  and  exceedingly  warm  position,  and 
seemed  to  fill  the  little  house  with  a  kind  of  splen 
dor  —  distant,  uncomprehending,  accidental  —  like 
that  gift  of  the  scrap-book.  She  thought  too  little 
about  them  to  know  when  she  did  the  right  thing 
by  poor  people,  until  they  told  her.  She  did  not 
mistake  her  taste  for  her  principles,  though  they 


sometimes  might.  "I  saw  Henry,"  said  Miss  Bit 
ter,  in  her  affable  tone,  that  the  washer-woman  did 
not  always  distinguish  from  personal  friendship. 
"  He  was  going  off  in  the  dory  after  those  Ben 
zine  children  that  always  get  lost  foggy  days.  I 
thought  he  was  pretty  patient,  though  he  had  to 
have  his  say  about  it.  All  the  children  were  with 
him,  I  believe  —  Tom  and  Sue  and  the  bigger  baby 
and  the  rest." 

"  There  ain't  any  rest  except  Emma  Eliza,"  cor 
rected  the  mother.    "  Six  is  enough,  gracious  knows 


32       THE  MADONNA  OF  THE  TUBS. 

—  and  she 's   gone  home  with  Mrs.   Hannibal  P. 
Harrowstone's    wash,    what    there    is    ready    of   it. 
Yes,  there 's   that   about  Henry  Salt,  I  will  say  ; 
he  '11  do  anything,  but  he 's  got  to  have  his  say. 
Him  and  me  we  have  words  sometimes.     I  'm  al 
ways  sorry  for  it  afterward.     I  never  mean  to.     He 
says  he  don't  mean  to   either.     But  there  !    men- 
folks  is  men-folks,  not  to  say  anything  of  women. 
Nigh  as  I  can  make  out,  the  Lord  made  men-folks 
to  be  contrary ;  but  sakes  !  if  you  love  'em,  what 's 
the  odds  ?     You  've  only  got  a  bigger  chance  to  do 
for  'em,  and  mother  'em  up.     They  're  a  kind  of 
boys,  men  are,  and  have  to  be  mothered  up  some 
how  by  their  women.     They  need  pettin'  and  fus- 
sin'  and  strokin'  the  right  way,  and  hear  jest  how 
they  feel  when  they  're  a  mite  sick,  and  fuss  over 
'em  as  if  you  s'posed  they  was  dangerous,  and  not 
to  say  nothin'  when  you  're  ten  times  worse  your 
self  —  that 's  men.     I  don't  say  I  don't  have  my 
tempers  out  myself  —  like  an  influenzy,  got  to  come 

—  sometimes.     But  there  !     I  've  got  a  good  hus 
band,  dear.     Nor  there  ain't  a  stiddier,  nor  soberer, 
nor  better,  goes  to  the  Banks  from  Fairharbor  year 
in,  year  out.     I  'm  very  fond   of  Henry.     We  've 
had  a  happy  life,  me  and  Henry." 


THE  MADONNA  OF  THE  TUBS.       33 

«  A  happy  life  ?  " 

Miss  Ritter  looked  about  the  fisherman's  cottage ; 
at  the  small  rooms  crowded  with  the  signs  of  sur 
plus  life  arid  harassing  economies ;  at  the  sober, 
sleeping  baby,  who  seemed  to  have  been  born  in  a 
hard  season,  and  bore  the  inheritance  of  poverty 
and  anxiety  in  the  lines  of  his  unconscious  face ; 
at  the  crippled  boy  stooping  in  the  window  against 
the  dull  square  of  light  made  by  the  conflict  of 
the  fog  and  dusk  beyond ;  at  the  nervous  motions 
of  the  tired  woman  at  the  ironing  -  table.  Ellen 
Jane  Salt  did  not  pass  for  a  heroine,  but  she  had 
aches  enough  and  ailments  enough  to  have  put 
Miss  Ritter  or  Mrs.  Hannibal  P.  Harrowstone  under 
treatment  from  a  fashionable  physician  for  the  rest 
of  her  life.  Any  lady  who  felt  as  she  did  would 
have  gone  to  bed.  The  fisherman's  wife  washed 
and  ironed ;  thus  Raf  e  had  beef -tea  —  and  the  in 
strument.  Somehow  even  the  instrument  did  not 
make  the  fisherman's  cottage  seem  an  abode  of  lux 
ury.  "I  can  always  sell  it,"  Mrs.  Salt  said,  when 
approached  by  good  sociologists  on  the  subject  of 
this  extravagance.  "  It 's  good  property  ;  it  keeps 
the  children  to  home  evenings  ;  and  Raf  e  —  why, 
I  got  it  for  Rafk." 


34  THE  MADONNA    OF   THE   TUBS. 

The  washer-woman  stood  straight  at  her  ironing- 
table,  and  lifted  her  head  as  she  followed  Helen 
Bitter's  look  about  the  cottage,  on  whose  sparse 
comforts  the  advancing  dusk  was  setting  heavily. 

"  Yes/'  she  said,  very  gently,  "  Henry  and  me 
have  had  a  happy  life  —  him  a  fisherman,  me  a 
washer-woman  —  six  children  —  and  Baf e  —  and 
poor.  Well,  there !  there 's  been  times  poor  don't 
say  it  —  and  hard.  It's  been  pretty  hard.  But 
you  see,  my  dear,  me  and  Henry  like  each  other. 
I  suppose  that  makes  a  difference." 

"  It  must  make  a  difference,"  repeated  Miss  Bit 
ter,  drearily.  She  went  abruptly  into  the  darken 
ing  parlor,  kissed  the  crippled  child  upon  the  fore 
head,  said  some  little  pleasant  thing  to  him,  and 
came  restlessly  back.  Bafe  climbed  down  from  his 
high  chair  laboriously,  took  up  his  crutch,  and  fol 
lowed  her.  His  mother  was  lighting  the  kerosene 
lamp,  and  the  poor  place  leaped  suddenly  into 
color.  Bafe  pulled  at  the  navy  blue  calico  dress. 
The  washer -woman  snatched  off  her  wet  crash 
apron,  and  drew  the  little  fellow  —  alas  !  never  per 
haps  to  be  too  big  a  fellow  for  his  mother's  lap  — 
into  her  arms.  The  ironing-table  and  the  clothes- 
basket  and  a  wash-tub  of  rinsing  clothes  closed  into 


THE  MADONNA    OF   THE   TUBS. 


35 


the  perspective  of  this  plain  picture ;  and  Raf  e's 
crutch,  where  it  had  fallen  in  the  foreground,  re 
minded  Miss  Ritter  somehow  of  the  staff  in  the 
little  St.  John  scenes  that  we  all  know. 


"  The  Madonna  —  of  the  Tubs,"  she  murmured. 

"  What,  ma'am  ?  "  asked  Rafe. 

"  There  !  there  !  "  said  the  Madonna ;  "  go   and 


36  THE  MADONNA    OF  THE   TUBS. 

watch  for  father,  Rafe."  She  handed  him  his 
crutch  with  her  kiss  —  a  half -savage  kiss,  like  that 
of  some  wild,  thwarted  maternal  thing  —  and  the 
child  limped  eagerly  away. 

"  He  must  have  found  them  Benzine  children 
by  this  time,"  Mrs.  Salt  ran  on,  taking  to  her  irons 
again  nervously.  "  But,  fact  is,  I  'm  never  easy  in 
my  mind  when  Henry  's  in  thick  weather,  not  even 
off-shore.  It 's  hard  being  a  woman  in  Fairharbor. 
Our  minister  said,  says  he,  when  he  first  come  to 
town  he  noticed  all  the  women-folks  called  it  ( the 
dreadful  sea.'  I  guess,  come  to  think  of  it,  we  do 

—  jest  as  you  'd  say   '  Monday  mornin' '  or   '  cold 
weather,'   and   never  take    notice    of   your   words. 
You  see,  I  'm  kind  o'  down  to-night,  tell  the  truth, 
Miss   Ritter.  —  Yes,   Rafe,  watch   for   papa,  dear. 
He  '11  be  disappointed  if  he  does  n't  see  Rafe  first. 

—  I  would  n't  tell  the  child  just  yet.     You  see,  his 
father 's  got  to  go  to  the   Banks.     Rafe  hates   to 
have  his  father  go  to  the  Banks.     He  worries.    We 
thought  we  'd  get   along  —  for  me  and  Rafe   do 
worry  so  —  but  Henry  's  had  an  awful  poor  season 
off-shore.      He  thinks  he  's  got  to  go.      He  ain't 
made  but  twenty-two  dollars  and  sixty-three  cents 
this  summer.    It 's  safer  off-shore,  take  it  all,  though 


THE  MADONNA    OF   THE    TUBS.  37 

it 's  bad  enough.  Miss  Ritter,  fix  it  as  you  will.  It 
was  off-shore  his  boat  keeled  over,  eight  years  ago 
the  23d  of  September,  not  more  'n  two  miles  off 
the  light  —  him  and  Job  Ely  and  Peter  Salt  and 
William  X.  Salt  went  down  in  a  squall,  and  I  'd 
been  nervous  all  day ;  so  when  it  struck  I  got  the 
glass,  and  took  Emma  Eliza  —  for  she  was  little 
then,  but  my  oldest  born,  and  all  I  had  to  speak 
to  that  would  understand  —  and  me  and  Emma 
Eliza  we  walked  over  the  downs,  and  over  the 
downs,  blowed  about  agen  the  wind,  with  the  glass, 
and  stood  watchin'  ;  and,  my  gracious  God,  Miss 
Bitter,  I  saw  that  there  boat  go  down  before  my 
living  eyes  ! " 

*  T  was  an  old  story,  told  to  how  many 
neighbors  and  "  summer  people " 
how  many  times!  but  at  this  point 
the  fisherman's  wife  gasped  and 
blanched.  She  had  never  been  able 
to  finish  it ;  each  time  she  thought 
she  should.  She  took  up  her  flat-irons  hastily,  for 
scalding  tears  were  dropping  on  Mrs.  Hannibal  P. 
Harrowstone's  fluted  skirt. 

"  He  h'isted  on  to  the  keel,  her  bottom  upmost," 


38  THE  MADONNA    OF  THE   TUBS. 

she  said,  in  a  lower  voice,  "  and  they  all  h'isted  on 
and  held,  and  a  lumber  schooner  from  Maine  come 
along  full  canvas,  but  it  took  an  eternal  punish 
ment,  lookin'  through  the  glass,  to  get  her  swung 
to  and  dory  off.  But  they  was  saved  —  him  and 
Job  Ely  and  Peter  Salt  and  William  X.  Salt  —  and 
him ;  but  they  looked  like  flies  before  my  eyes,  for 
the  sea  broke  over  'em,  and  they  kep'  a-slippin', 
and  so  me  and  Emma  Eliza  put  down  the  glass  and 
come  home  and  set  down  ;  and  Emma  Eliza  made 
me  a  cup  of  tea  —  for  I  was  that  gone,  and  her 
so  little  to  do  for  me.  And  there  we  set,  for  we 
could  n't  do  nothin'  till  he  come  home  at  five  min 
utes  past  nine  o'clock,  bustin'  open  the  door  —  so  ! 
—  drippin'  wet,  and  pale  as  his  own  corpse,  and  I 
says,  '  Henry  !  Henry  ! '  and  he  says,  '  Nelly  Jane  ! ' 
and  we  says  no  more,  for  someways  we  could  n't  do 
it.  But  Emma  Eliza  cried  —  for  she  used  to  bel 
low,  that  child  did,  when  she  was  little  —  enough 
to  wake  last  year's  mackerel  catch,  and  then  she 
made  her  father's  tea,  for  I  was  that  gone ;  and 
you  see,  Miss  Bitter,  it  was  next  month  Rafe  was 
born,  and  he  was  born,  my  dear  —  as  he  is." 

"  Marm,  I  don't  see  my  fa — ther,"  interrupted 
Kafe,  in  his  gentle,  drawling  voice,  from  the  open 
front  door. 


THE  MADONNA    OF   THE   TUBS.  41 

"  And  so,  as  I  says/'  proceeded  Mrs.  Salt,  more 
briskly,  "fishin'  is  fishing  off-shore  or  no.  But  I 
have  n't  no  confidence  in  the  Grand  Banks.  I  wish 
my  husband  had  n't  got  to  go  this  fall.  I  ain't 
any  time  to  be  nervous,  but  there  's  always  time  to 
see  things.  You  know,  you  see  him  so,  before 
your  eyes,  all  sorts  of  ways,  when  he's  that  far 
from  you  —  fogs,  or  a  gale,  or  a  squall  —  drownin' 
mostly,  and  callin'  after  you,  if  you  're  his  wife  and 
have  always  done  for  him.  Even  a  headache  he  'd 
run  to  you  about.  And  to  stand  here  ironin',  a 
thousand  miles  away,  and  him  maybe  "  — 

"  Mann,"  called  Kafe,  "  I  see  my  fa— ther  !  I 
see  my  fa — ther  !  " 

"  Well,  there  ! "  cried  Ellen  Jane  Salt,  putting 
down  her  irons  tremendously.  She  blushed  like  a 
girl,  and  bustled  about,  "  picking  up  "  here  and 
there,  and  hurrying  to  fry  the  cod  for  supper.  She 
almost  forgot  her  young  lady  customer,  who  was 
glad  just  then  to  slip  away. 

On  the  way  down  the  lane  she  met  the  fisherman 
and  his  children  hurrying  home ;  but  in  the  dusk 
they  passed  with  a  pleasant,  neighborly  nod.  Miss 
Bitter  was  sad,  and  Henry  Salt  was  hungry ;  so  she 
with  her  kindly  "  Well,  Henry  !  "  and  he  with  his 


42  THE  MADONNA    OF  THE   TUBS. 

civil  "  H  'ar'  yer,  Miss  Ritter  ?  "  went  their  ways. 
It  so  happened  from  one  trifling  cause  and  another 
—  she  was  called  to  Boston  earlier  than  usual,  and 
what  not  —  that  this  was  the  last  time  she  spoke 
to  the  good  fellow  that  season,  as  she  afterward 
remembered. 

She  turned  in  the  dark  lane,  and  watched  the 
group  scrambling  home  in  their  happy-go-lucky 
fashion  —  Henry  rode  the  bigger  baby  (he  was 
known  in  the  Salt  family  as  "  the  other  baby  ") 
pickback  all  the  way ;  Sue  and  Tommy  trudged 
and  toddled,  snatching  at  his  oil  -  clothes,  which 
were  wet,  and  slipped  from  their  little  round  red 
hands. 

Henry  Salt  sang,  as  he  carried  "the  other  baby," 
a  snatch  of  a  sailor's  song  Miss  Ritter  had  never 
heard  before  — 

"Give  the  wind  time 
To  blow  the  man  down." 

Past  the  rose  thicket,  by  the  great  bowlder,  dim 
in  the  dark  and  the  now  drenching  fog,  man  and 
children,  pushing  merrily  home,  made  one  con 
fused  group,  like  a  centaur  or  a  torso  to  the 
watcher's  eye. 

The  cottage  door  was  wide  open.     What  a  splen- 


"SHE  MET  THE  FISHERMAN  AND  HIS  CHILDREN/'     See  page  41, 


THE  MADONNA    OF  THE    TUBS. 


45 


dor  of  light  leaped  out !  Was  it  only  that  kero 
sene  lamp  upon  the  ironing-table  ?  How  it  beat 
back  the  crawling  fog,  which  made  as  if  it  would 
enter  first  and  was  denied. 

»  "  Give  the  wind  time," 

rang  the  fisherman's  happy  bass. 


From  outside,  through  the  door  one  could  see 
clearly  and  far.  All  the  little  house  seemed  to 
lean  out  to  draw  them  in  ;  the  sweet,  tidy,  homely 
things  grew  gilded  and  glorious,  and  had  a  look  as 
if  they  stirred ;  even  the  instrument  could  be  seen 
deep  in  the  parlor,  with  the  reduced  high-art  paper. 
In  the  doorway,  once  again,  the  Madonna  of  the 
Tubs  had  found  that  fine,  unconscious  attitude  — 
half  stooping  to  take  Rafe,  who  had  stood  too  long 
upon  his  little  crutch.  He  put  up  his  hand  and 
stroked  her  cheek. 


46  THE  MADONNA    OF  THE   TUBS. 

"  Oh,  inarm,  I  Ve  got  my  fa — ther  !  " 

"Give  the  wind  time 
To  blow  the  man  down," 

sang   Henry    Salt.       Laughing,    he    snatched    and 


kissed  the  child  —  the  mother  too,  perhaps.  Down 
there  in  the  dark  wet  lane  Miss  Ritter  could  not 
see,  or  her  eyes  failed  her  somehow. 


THE  MADONNA    OF  THE   TUBS.  47 

For  a  moment  the  group  stood  in  the  open  door 
in  a  kind  of  glory.  Then  Emma  Eliza  came  in, 
and  putting  down  her  empty  clothes-basket,  and 
going  straight  to  the  instrument,  began — it  seemed 
that  Raf e  asked  —  to  play.  A  waltz,  perhaps  ? 
A  minstrel  melody?  Some  polka  learned  of  the 
music-teacher  ?  A  merry  ditty  flung  at  fate  and 
dashed  at  life  and  death,  between  whose  equal 
mysteries  these  poor  souls  wrenched  their  brave 
and  scanty  happiness  ?  My  musical  friend  —  no. 
Emma  Eliza  sang  a  hymn.  She  sang  that  venera 
ble  Sunday-school  jingle  known  as  "  Pull  for  the 
Shore." 

Rafe  joined  in  it  sweetly,  leaning  on  his  crutch. 
His  mother  sang  it  shrilly  while  she  fried  the  cod. 
Henry  Salt  sang  it  merrily  while  he  hung  his  oil- 
clothes  on  the  nail  behind  the  door.  Sue  and 
Tommy  and  the  other  baby  sang  it  anyhow;  and 
the  baby  in  the  crib  waked  up  and  stretched  his 
arms  out  to  the  instrument. 

"  Pull  for  the  shore,  sailor,  pull  for  the  shore  ! 
Heed  not  the  rolling  waves,  but  bend  to  the  oar  ! 
Pull  for  the  shore,  sailor,  pull  for  the  shore  ! " 

Then  the  door  shut  suddenly;  the  Madonna  was 
blotted  from  sight ;   blackness  replaced  the  sweet 


48  THE  MADONNA    OF   THE    TUBS. 

and  homely  halo ;  only  the  voices  of  the  fisher- 
people,  expressing  what  they  knew  of  happiness  in 
the  sombre,  sacred  words  that  held  the  terror  and 
the  danger  of  the  sea,  echoed  faintly  down  the 
dark  and  now  deserted  lane. 


"  If  this  were  a  story  in  need  of  a  heroine/'  said 
Helen  Bitter  as  she  turned,  "  it  is  a  vacant  position 
which  I  should  not  be  asked  to  fill.  And  yet  I  'd 
be  my  washer-woman  to  be  "  — 

"Give  the  wind  time 
To  blow  for  the  shore," 

rang  out  the  gruff  bass  voice  that  wind  and  weather 
had   roughened  in    shouting   "  Ship    ahoy ! "     For 


THE  MADONNA    OF   THE   TUBS.  49 

Henry  had  musically  forgotten  himself,  as  will  be 
seen,  and  Emma  Eliza,  at  the  instrument,  came  to 
a  severe  halt  to  set  him  straight. 


ERHAPS  if  it  had  not  been  for  Wil 
liam  X.  Salt  it  would  never  have  hap 
pened. 

Tennyson,  I  think,  or  it  might 
well  be,  has  sketched  a  sea-port  town  in  one  line 
which  runs :  — 

"And  almost  all  the  village  had  one  name." 

The  fishing  town  of  Fairharbor  was  generously  fur 
nished  with  the  appropriate  name  of  Salt.  There 
were  great  Salts  and  small  Salts,  rich  and  poor 
Salts,  drunk  and  sober  Salts,  Salts  making  money 
in  the  counting-rooms  and  Salts  earning  it  upon  the 
wharves,  Salts  in  the  fish  firms  and  Salts  before  the 
mast  —  Abraham  L.  Salt,  for  instance,  who  owned 
the  schooner  (herself  Abby  E.  Salt  by  name),  and 
William  X.  Salt  and  Peter  Salt  and  Henry  Salt, 
who  sailed  in  her  to  the  Grand  Banks,  after  the 
golden-rod  and  the  summer  people  were  gone,  when 


50 


THE  MADONNA    OF   THE   TUBS. 


there  were  no  Japanese  umbrellas,  and  nobody 
screamed  at  the  snails,  when  there  was  no  washing 
by  the  dozen  to  be  had,  and  only  now  and  then  a 
letter  from  Miss  Ritter  —  in  November,  just  before 
Thanksgiving,  when  the  weather  had  turned  cold 
and  the  wind  blew  from  the  north. 


THE  MADONNA    OF   THE   TUBS.  51 

OTHING  is  easier  than  to  find  a  rea 
son  for  the  unpleasant  in  ourselves  in 
causes  outside  of  ourselves,  and  yet, 
in  spite  of  this  calm,  proverbial  phi 
losophy,  it  is  probably  true  that  if  it 
had  not  been  for  William  X.  Salt  it 
would  never  have  happened.  At  least  Ellen  Jane 
said  so,  and  will  say  so  to  her  dying  day.  For 
from  whatever  cause  —  divine,  diabolic,  or  human 
—  whether  because  William  X.  Salt  treated  Henry, 
or  because  Henry  allowed  William  X.  to  treat  him, 
or  because  Heaven  permitted  or  hell  decreed  —  the 
truth  remains  that  Henry  and  Ellen  Jane  Salt,  like 
many  another  wedded  pair  loving  less  than  they, 
like  many  another  loving  even  more  than  they, 
quarrelled ;  but  the  worst  of  it  was  that  they  quar 
relled  the  night  that  Henry  set  sail  in  the  Abby 
E.  Salt,  with  William  X.  and  Peter  and  Job  Ely 
and  the  other  fellows  —  ten  in  all  —  for  the  Grand 
Banks  of  Newfoundland. 

William  X.  Salt  had  given  him  the  whiskey,  for, 
as  I  say,  it  was  turning  cold,  and  the  wind  blew 
bitterly  from  the  north,  and  the  men  had  worked 
till  they  were  fretted  and  chilled,  getting  their  traps 


52  THE  MADONNA    OF  THE   TUBS. 

and  trawls  aboard.  Now  Henry  was  a  sober  man, 
for  the  most  part,  and  meant  to  keep  so  ;  or  his 
wife  meant  to  keep  him  so,  which  is  much  the  same 
thing ;  and  I  should  libel  him  were  I  to  say  that 
he  came  home  to  supper  drunk.  He  was  not  drunk. 
Strictly  speaking,  he  was  not  sober.  In  point  of 
fact,  he  was  what  may  be  charitably  called  sensitive 


to  liquor,  owing  to  some  passing  familiarity  of  the 
nervous  system  with  its  effects  in  early  youth  ;  and 
it  took  little  enough  to  make  it  clear  that  he  had 
better  have  taken  none  at  all.  As  a  rule,  Henry 
recognized  this  physiological  fact.  That  November 
night  he  was  cold  and  tired  and  "  down,"  and  Wil 
liam  X.,  who  was  sober  sometimes,  but  so  seldom 
that,  by  the  law  of  chances,  that  could  hardly  have 
been  one  of  the  times,  was  moved  to  treat  at  the 
wrong  moment  or  in  the  wrong  way ;  and  if  Henry 
had  taken  a  little  less  —  or  even  a  little  more,  and 


THE  MADONNA  OF  THE  TUBS.       53 

come  home  to  his  wife  drunk,  it  might  not  have 
happened,  we  must  admit,  for  he  was  jolly  and 
silly  when  he  was  drunk ;  but  he  got  only  so  far 
as  the  cross  stage,  and  cross  he  was  — •  it  need  not 
be  denied  —  to  Ellen  Jane. 

What  was  it  all  about  ?  What  is  it  ever  all 
about  when  two  who  love  each  other  dearer  than 
any  great  thing  on  earth,  fall  sharp  asunder  because 
of  some  little  one  —  too  little  to  find  ?  The  pity 
of  love  is  that  it  is  given  to  small  creatures  :  let  us 
not  forget  that  itself  is  great. 

Perhaps  it  was  the  door  that  slammed ;  perhaps 
it  was  the  coffee  that  did  not  settle  ;  it  may  be 
that  the  baby  cried,  or  the  chowder  burned  their 
tongues,  or  somebody  upset  the  milk  pitcher,  or  the 
lamp  smoked,  or  the  ironing  fire  was  burning  coal 
too  fast,  or  the  barberry  sauce  (brought  out  to 
honor  the  occasion)  had  not  enough  molasses  in  it, 
or  the  griddle-cakes  did  not  come  fast  enough,  or 
there  was  a  draught  somewhere  —  who  could  say  ? 
Neither  of  these  married  lovers,  perhaps,  after  it 
was  all  over.  Less  than  any  one  of  these  almost 
invisible  causes  has  broken  hearts  and  homes  be 
fore,  and  will,  world  without  end,  till  lovers  learn 
the  infinite  preciousness  of  love,  and  human  speech 
is  guarded  like  human  chastity. 


54  THE  MADONNA    OF  THE   TUBS. 

- 
—  N  short,    then   and    there,    on    the 

night,  on  the  hour  of  their  sep 
aration,  Henry  and  Ellen  Jane 
Salt  "  eame  to  words." 

She  had  been  crying  all  day, 
poor  woman,  because  he  had  to 
go.  She  dreaded  a  November  voyage  intelligently 
and  insanely.  Kafe  had  cried  too,  but  he  hid  in 
the  parlor  to  do  it.  The  children  were  all  sober 
except  the  baby  and  the  other  baby.  The  house 
was  illuminated  —  there  were  two  kerosene  lamps 
and  the  lantern.  All  Henry's  mending  was  tear 
fully  and  exquisitely  done.  There  had  been  fresh 
doughnuts  fried,  and  a  squash  pie  (extravagantly) 
made  to  please  him.  Emma  Eliza,  at  the  instru 
ment,  played  the  "  Sweet  By-and-by."  Her  mother 
was  dressed  in  her  best  calico  —  a  new  one  never 
at  the  wash-tub,  one  of  those  chocolate  patterns  with 
strong-minded  flowers  that  women  fancy,  Heaven 
and  the  designers  know  why.  Her  hair  was  brushed 
and  her  collar  fresh,  and  she  had  looked  as  pretty 
as  a  pink,  poor  thing,  dashing  away  the  tears  when 
he  came  in  ;  ready  for  all  the  little  feminine  arts 
that  make  men  cheerful  at  the  cost  of  women's 
nerve  and  courage. 


THE  MADOtfNA    OF  THE   TUBS. 


55 


Then  it  happened  —  whatever  it  was  —  and  the 
glow  went  out  of  her  face  as  the  gloom  gathered 
on  his,  and  that  sweet  look  about  her  mouth  settled 


away,  and  the  smouldering  fire  burned  up  slowly 
from  a  great  depth  in  her  sunken,  tired  blue  eyes ; 
and  with  a  breaking  heart  she  blamed  him ;  and 
with  a  barbarous  tongue  he  admired  her  ;  and  their 
words  ran  as  high  as  their  nerves  were  strained ; 


56  THE  MADONNA    OF   THE   TUBS. 

and  because  they  loved  each  other  dearly  every 
harsh  word  they  said  scorched  them  like  coals  of 
white  fire,  on  which  one  pours  more  to  cover  up 
the  blaze;  and  because  they  were  man  and  wife, 
and  more  to  each  other  than  all  the  world  besides, 
they  said  each  to  each,  bitterly  dashing  out  blind 
words,  what  neither  would  have  said  to  friend  or 
neighbor  for  very  shame's  sake  ;  and  so  it  came 
about  that  on  this  night  they  were  in  high  temper, 
than  which  none  had  been  really  sharper,  perhaps, 
in  all  their  wedded  lives. 

"  There  is  something  always  wrong  about  this 
house,  curse  it !  "  cried  the  man  whom  William  X. 
Salt  had  treated. 

"  There  's  nothing  wrong  in  this  house  but  him 
that 's  setting  sail  from  it,"  cried  the  woman  whom 
the  man  had  scolded. 

They  were  flashing  words  —  up  and  out  and  over 
—  and,  had  it  fared  differently  with  them,  at  an 
other  time  a  sob  and  a  kiss  would  have  met  above 
the  ashes  of  the  sorry  scene,  and  there  would  have 
been  an  end,  and  peace  to  it. 

But  the  Abby  E.  Salt  weighed  anchor  at  eight 
o'clock.  It  was  quarter  past  seven  when  Henry 
pushed  back  from  the  half-eaten  supper  and  took 


THE  MADONNA    OF    THE    TUBS.  57 

up  his  old  hat  to  go.  He  had  over  a  mile  to  walk, 
and  a  ferry  to  catch,  and  what  not  to  do  ;  he  was 
already  late.  There  was  no  time  to  let  the  sweet 
waters  of  repentance  come  to  the  flood.  He  bade 
the  children  good-by  sullenly,  kissed  Rafe,  and, 
after  an  instant's  hesitation,  pushed  open  the  door. 
He  said  he  must  hunt  up  Job  Ely,  and  so  saying, 
and  saying  no  more  than  this,  he  went  out  of  the 
house.  He  did  not  look  at  his  wife. 

Her  pretty,  weary  face  had  flushed  a  dangerous 
scarlet  during  the  scene  which  had  passed.  Now 
it  turned  a  dreadful  white.  She  stood  quite  still. 
She  seemed  to  have  no  more  moral  power  to  move 
after  the  man  than  an  unsought  girl  or  a  woman 
repulsed.  Her  whole  feminine  nature  was  quiver 
ing  pitifully.  When  a  man  is  rough  with  a  woman 
he  forgets  that  he  hurts  two  creatures  —  the  hu 
man  and  the  woman  —  and  that  he  hurts  the  second 
more  than  it  can  hurt  himself  by  just  so  much  as 
the  essence  of  the  feminine  nature  is  a  fact  super 
imposed  upon  the  human.  But  as  the  mystery  of 
this  knowledge  is  one  that  princes  and  philosophers 
have  not  yet  commanded,  who  should  expect  it  of 
the  fisherman  Henry  Salt  ? 

The    children    during    this   unhappy   scene    had 


58  THE  MADONNA    OF   THE   TUBS. 

stood  silent.  To  their  father's  quickness  of  temper 
they  were  used  ;  he  scolded  one  minute  and  kissed 
the  next;  but  the  usual  had  become  the  unexpected, 
and  a  kind  of  moral  embarrassment  filled  the  cot 
tage.  The  baby  and  the  other  baby  began  to  cry ; 
Emma  Eliza,  whether  from  some  rudimentary  idea 
of  calling  her  father's  attention,  or  from  some 
daughterly  delicacy  which  led  her  to  get  herself 
out  of  the  way,  sat  down  at  the  instrument  and 
vigorously  played  "  Pull  for  the  Shore "  on  the 
wrong  key  ;  Rafe  got  upon  his  crutch  and  hobbled 
to  the  door  ;  the  wife  alone  stood  quite  still. 

The  wind  was  rising  fiercely  from  the  north,  as 
has  been  said,  and  bursting  in  at  the  open  door, 
caught  it  and  clutched  it  to  and  fro,  closing  but 
not  latching,  and  noisily  playing  with  it,  as  if  with 
a  shaken  mood  that  could  not  fix  itself.  For  the 
instant,  the  master  of  the  house  seemed  to  be  shut 
out,  and  seemed  possibly  to  one  outside  to  have 
been  slammed  out  by  hands  within. 

"  Let  me  by,  Rafe ;  let  me  by  this  minute ! "  The 
wife  made  one  bound,  and  down  the  wooden  steps, 
where  she  stood  bewildered.  No  one  was  to  be 
seen.  It  was  deadly  dark,  and  the  wind  raved  with 
a  volume  of  sound  which  seemed  to  the  Fairharbor 


LITTLE  FIGURE  HIT  HER,  HURRYING  BY  UPON  A  LITTLE  CRUTCH." 

See  page  61. 


THE  MADONNA    OF   THE   TUBS.  61 

woman,  born  and  nourished  of  the  blast,  to  be 
something  intelligent  and  infernal  pitted  against 
her.  She  flung  her  shrill  voice  out  into  it :  "  Henry ! 
Henry!  come  back  and  say  good-by  to  me.  I'm 
sorry.  Henry  !  Henry  !  Henry  !  I  'm  sorry  !  I  'm 
sorry  I " 

But  only  the  awful  throat  of  the  gale  made  an 
swer.  She  ran  a  little  way,  straining  her  ears,  her 
eyes,  her  voice,  beating  her  breast  in  a  kind  of 
frenzy,  calling  passionately,  plaintively,  then  pas 
sionately  again  ;  and  so,  despairing,  for  she  made 
no  headway  against  the  roar  of  the  November  nor'- 
wester,  staggered,  turned,  and  stopped. 

At  this  moment,  scrambling  through  the  dark,  a 
little  figure  hit  her,  hurrying  by  upon  a  little  crutch. 

"  I  'm  goin'  to  catch  my  fa — ther,"  said  Rafe. 

He  pushed  on  beyond  her,  his  bright  hair  blown 
straight  like  a  helmet  or  visor  of  gold  from  his 
forehead,  calling  as  he  went,  slipping,  daring,  tum 
bling  on  the  sharp  rocks,  and  up  again.  Down 
there  in  the  dark,  midway  of  the  road  she  saw  a 
little  fellow  stop  to  gather  strength  and  throw  the 
whole  force  of  his  sweet  young  voice  like  a  chal 
lenge  to  the  gale  :  — 

"  Fa — ther  !    marm  's   sorry  !       (Don't   you   cry, 


62  THE  MADONNA    OF   THE   TUBS. 

marm.  I  think  he'll  answer.)  Fa — ther!  fa — ther! 
marm  says  she  's  sorry  !  Marni  is  sorry,  fa — ther  ! 
(Just  keep  still,  marm.  I  'm  sure  he  '11  answer.) 

Fa THER  !    MARM    IS    SORRY  !  " 

The  crippled  child  hurled  the  whole  of  his  little 
soul  and  body  into  that  last  cry,  and  then  she  saw 
him  turn  and  limp,  more  slowly,  back.  He  came 
up  to  her  gently  where  she  stood  sobbing  in  the 
dark  and  wind ;  and  as  if  he  had  been  the  parent, 
one  might  say,  and  she  the  child,  he  patted  her 
upon  the  hand. 

"I  told  you  I  'd  catch  him,  marm  —  dear  marm," 
added  Rafe. 

She  shook  her  head  incredulously,  convulsive 
with  her  tears,  turning  drearily  to  go  back.  She 
hardly  noticed  Rafe  in  that  minute.  The  wife  was 
older  than  the  mother  in  her ;  if  stronger,  who 
should  say  her  nay? 

"  But  I  caught  my  fa — ther,"  persisted  Rafe. 
"  He  says,  says  he  "  — 

"  Rafe,  he  could  n't,  dear." 

"  Marm,  he  hollered,  <  So  be  I.'  " 

"  Did  your  father  say  that,  honest,  Rafe  ?  " 

She  lifted  her  head  piteously,  pleadingly,  before 
the  child. 


THE  MADONNA    OF   THE    TUBS. 


63 


"I  think  he  did/'  said  Rafe,  conscientiously.  "I 
says,  '  Fa — ther,  marm  's  sorry  '  ;  and  he  says,  *  So 
be  I.'" 

"If  he  says,  '  So  be  I/  God  bless  you,  Raf  e  ! 
mother's  sonny  boy." 

But  with  that  she  began  to  sob  afresh,  half  with 
hope  and  half  with  misery.  The  child,  whose 
sympathies  were  made  old  and  fine  by  suffering, 
watched  her  soberly. 

"I  think  he  did,"  said  Rafe,  stoutly.  " / 'think 
my  fa — ther  hollered,  '  So  be  I." 

He  lifted  the  truthful  face  of  an  angel  in  a  halo 
to  the  poor  Madonna  in  the  glimmer  of  the  open 
door.  His  yellow  hair  shone  like  an  aureole  about 
his  ardent  little  face.  He  would  have  given  his 
scrap-book  just  then  to  say,  u  I  know  he  did." 
But  Rafe  never  lied.  The  other  children  supposed 
it  was  because  he  was  a  cripple. 


64  THE  MADONNA    OF  THE   TUBS. 

T  was  in  just  eleven  days 
that  they  brought  her  the 
news.  Abraham  L.  Salt 
asked  Biram  to  tell  her, 
and  Biram  sent  a  woman 
neighbor.  The  north 
wester  had  blown  grandly,  as  any  one  might  know, 
straight  for  the  Banks,  and  blown  the  Abby  E.  Salt 
thither  in  a  smart  voyage  of  four  days  and  a  half. 
After  the  steady  blow  the  weather  thickened,  and 
that  which  has  happened  to  Fairharbor  fishermen, 
and  will  happen  again,  God  help  them  !  till  the 
way  of  the  wind  and  wave  is  tamed  to  human  an 
guish,  happened  then  and  there  to  Henry  Salt. 
The  Zephaniah  Salt,  a  fine  three-masted  schooner, 
about  returning  from  the  fishing-grounds,  carried 
the  word  to  the  telegraph  at  Boston,  and  the  tel 
egraph  to  Abraham  L.  Salt,  as  was  said;  he  to 
Biram,  Biram  to  the  woman  neighbor,  the  woman, 
praying  God's  pity,  to  her. 

She  did  not  say  it  as  she  meant  to.  Who  of  us 
does  hard  things  as  we  thought  we  should  ?  She 
walked  straight  into  the  cottage,  and  stood  still  in 
the  middle  of  the  floor,  and  began  to  cry.  The  first 


THE  MADONNA    OF   THE   TUBS. 


65 


she  knew  she  had  caught  the  little  crippled  child 
and  put  him  into  his  mother's  arms,  and  said,  — 

"  Rafe,  tell  your  poor  marm  that  your  father  's 
drownded  —  for  I  can't." 


"  At  the  Grand  Banks,  on  the  morning  of  No 
vember  — ,  Henry  Salt  and  Job  Ely,  of  Fairharbor, 
dory  mates,  set  out  from  the  schooner  Abby  E.  Salt 
to  look  after  their  trawls,  and  were  lost  in  the  fog. 
Every  effort  was  made  in  vain  to  find  the  unfor 
tunate  men.  No  hope  is  any  longer  felt  of  their 
safety.  The  bodies  have  not  been  recovered.  Salt 
leaves  a  wife  and  six  children.  Ely  was  unmarried. 
The  Abby  E.  Salt  belongs  to  the  well-known  firm 
of  Abraham  L.  Salt  &  Co.,  of  Fairharbor." 

ISS  RITTER,  idly  nibbling  at 
her  "  Daily  Advertiser  "  be 
fore  her  open  cannel  fire  one 
bleak  December  morning, 
chanced  upon  the  paragraph, 
which  she  re-read  and  pon 
dered  long.  Ellen  Jane  had  sent  no  word  out  of 
her  misery,  poor  thing  !  A  letter  achieved  is  an 
affliction  to  the  unlearned,  and  she  had  enough  to 
bear  without  adding  that. 


66 


THE  MADONNA    OF   THE  TUBS. 


"  I  'd  rather  do  a  day's  washing  any  time  than 
write  a  letter/'  she  used  to  say.  Besides,  after  all, 
what  would  the  "  boarder  lady  "  care  ?  When  it 
came  to  the  point  of  bereavement,  remorse,  widow 


hood,  hunger,  cold,  and  despair,  the  summer  patron 
seemed  as  far  from  the  Fairharbor  winter  as  her 
paper  parasol  or  her  "  valingcens."  Henry  Salt 
had  gone  the  way  of  his  calling,  like  other  men  ; 
he  had  become  one  of  the  one  or  two  hundred 


THE  MADONNA  OF  THE  TUBS.       67 

Fairharbor  fishermen  over  whose  fate  a  comfortable 
dry-shod  world  heaves  a  sigh  once  a  year  when  the 
winter  gales  blow  so  hard  as  to  shake  the  posts 
of  the  firm,  warm  house  a  little,  or  even  to  puff 
the  lace  above  the  sleeping  baby's  crib  in  the  cur 
tained,  fire-lit  room.  His  wife,  like  other  women, 
was  a  "  Fairharbor  widow,"  and  like  other  women 
must  bend  her  to  her  fate. 

She  bowed  to  it  in  those  first  weeks  in  a  stupe 
faction  that  resembled  moral  catalepsy.  A  reserve 
such  as  restrains  the  hand  that  writes  this  page  —  a 
page  like  a  bridge  over  a  chasm  down  which  one 
cannot  look,  yet  over  which  one  must  cross  per 
force  —  solemnly  enwrapped  the  fisherman's  widow 
in  that  space  between  the  night  when  the  woman 
neighbor  put  the  crippled  child  into  his  mother's 
arms,  and  the  advance  of  the  holidays,  which  come 
—  God  help  us  !  —  straight  into  the  ruined  as  once 
into  the  blessed  homes. 

And  so  to  Fairharbor  as  to  Beacon  Street,  to 
Ellen  Salt  as  to  Helen  Bitter,  or  you  or  me,  the 
sacred  time  which  enhances  all  happiness  and  all 
anguish  came  gently  or  cruelly,  but  surely,  on; 
and  it  was  the  day  before  Christmas,  and  going  to 
snow. 


68  THE  MADONNA    OF  THE   TUBS. 

N  the  sad  cottage  behind  the  leaf 
less  rose  thicket  and  under  the 
ice-clad   bowlders  they  were  all 
at  home   early   that   afternoon : 
the  mother  from  her  dreary  at 
tempt  and  failure  to  find  another 
neighbor  to  "  wash  "  on  Monday  morning ;  Emma 
Eliza  from  the  net  factory,  where  she  wove  seines 
and  hammocks  (when  the  factory  was  running)  at 
irregular  wages,  ranging  from  four  dollars  a  week 
to  none  ;  Tommy  and  Sue  from  the  district  school, 
where  one  must  have  u  an  education/'  even  if  no 
father  and  no  dinner.     Rafe  took  care  of  the  baby 
and  the  other  baby,  and  was,  so  to  speak,  profes 
sionally  at  home.     Besides,  Rafe  himself  (indeed, 
I  might  say  Rafe  in  particular)  was  about  to  be 
come   the   support   of  the  family.     As  luck  would 
have  it — or  as  God  willed  it  —  a  group  of  marine 
artists    had    discovered    Fairharbor  that   year,  and 
were  wintering,  by  the  mercies  of  Providence  and 
the  landlady,  in  the  closed  hotel,  hard   at  work; 
among  them  one,  a  portrait  and  genre  painter,  guest 
of  the  little  company  for  a  week  or  so,  had  seen 
Rafe  at  a  window  one  day,  and,  presto  !  the  child's 


THE  MADONNA    OF   THE   TUBS.  69 

face  —  a  cherub  strayed  from  Paradise  into  misfor 
tune,  the  fellows  said  —  shall  go  to  the  exhibition. 

Rafe  was  earning  what  occurred  to  him  as  an 
enormous  salary  as  a  model  by  the  hour ;  he  failed 
to  see  why  Sue  had  no  rubbers  or  Tommy  no  coat, 
or  why  the  kitchen  fire  burned  so  cold,  or  there 
was  no  meat  for  dinner,  in  view  of  his  monetary 
receipts.  He  had  often  told  his  mother  that  he 
would  support  her,  and  begged  her  not  to  cry.  It 
did  not  strike  him  that  he  had  never  seen  her  cry 
since  his  father  died. 

As  Christmas  Eve  drew  on,  they  were  all  well  in 
the  house.  Emma  Eliza  drew  the  curtains  fast,  for 
the  hard  and  bitter  air  must  melt  into  snow  from 
very  force  of  resistance  to  its  fate,  now  any  mo 
ment,  and  the  house  was  cold.  Rafe  asked  her  to 
leave  one  of  the  kitchen  curtains  up  a  little  ;  he 
had  a  fancy  for  looking  out  on  dark  nights  ;  he 
used  to  stand  so,  sometimes  crooning  and  singing 
to  himself,  his  bright  hair  pressed  against  the  win 
dow-pane,  and  his  thin  hands  up  against  his  tem 
ples.  Before  his  father  died,  Rafe  sang  "  Pull  for 
the  Shore  "  a  great  deal,  standing  by  that  window 
looking  out ;  sometimes  Emma  Eliza  would  catch 
it  up  upon  the  instrument  and  join.  But  he  did 
not  sing  it  any  more. 


70       THE  MADONNA  OF  THE  TUBS. 

The  outside  door  did  not  latch  —  the  one  that 
slammed  poor  Henry  out  on  that  last  night ;  it 
never  latched  very  well ;  there  was  no  man  to  fix 
it  now ;  a  carpenter  could  not  be  afforded ;  the 
women  and  children  had  tinkered  away  at  the  fast 
ening,  in  their  blundering  fashion,  with  blinding 
tears.  Such  are  the  cruel  small  ways  in  which  the 
poor  are  reminded  of  their  bereavements  at  every 
crevice  of  their  lives.  Rafe  had  pushed  up  the 
wash-bench  finally  against  the  door  to  keep  it  in 
its  place. 

Mrs.  Salt  looked  about  the  little  group,  trying 
duteously  to  smile.  She  had  on  a  (dyed)  black 
dress ;  she  looked  sixty  years  old ;  she  was  what 
one  might  be  tempted  to  call  almost  infernally 
changed ;  an  indescribable  expression  had  got  hold 
of  her  face ;  she  seemed  like  a  dead  person  up  and 
dressed.  There  was  something  no  less  than  dread 
ful  in  the  mechanical  gentleness  and  reserve  which 
had  settled  down  upon  this  emotional,  voluble  crea 
ture.  No  accident  betrayed  her  into  any  accelera 
tion  of  the  voice;  the  Grossest  baby  never  raised 
a  ruffle  in  her  accent ;  she  had  such  a  monotonous 
sweetness  and  bruised  patience  as  seemed  like  a 
paralysis  of  common  human  nature.  Her  children 


THE  MADONNA    OF   THE    TUBS.  71 

could  not  remember  to  have  had  even  a  rebuke 
from  her  since  that  night  when  the  woman  neigh 
bor  came  in.  They  had  deserved  it  twenty  times. 

"  Children/'  she  said,  dully  and  gently,  "  I  have 
n't  any  presents  for  you  this  Christmas.  It 's  the 
first  one,  I  guess.  I  can't  help  it,  you  know,  my 
dears.  We  are  very  poor  to-night.  But  I  '11  build 
you  a  big,  hot  fire  —  it 's  all  I  can  do.  We  '11  keep 
Christmas  Eve  by  keeping  warm,  if  we  can.  The 
stove  don't  work,  somehow ;  the  lining  needs  fix 
ing  ;  it  needs  a  man."  She  hesitated,  looking  piti 
fully  about  the  room,  at  each  little  sober  face. 

"  Won't  that  do  ?  Won't  that  be  better  than  no 
Christmas  at  all?  I  thought  mebbe  it  would.  It's 
all  mother 's  got  for  you.  She  could  n't  do  any 
better.  She  wanted  to.  He  always  set  so  much 
by  Christmas.  He  "  — 

The  broken  door  blew  in  and  slammed  against 
the  wash-bench  loudly.  Rafe  went  to  shut  it ;  but 
it  resisted  the  little  fellow's  strength  —  fell  inward 
heavily,  and  with  it  a  huge  object  thrust  itself,  or 
was  thrust,  along  the  floor  noisily  enough. 

"  It 's  the  expressman  !  "  cried  Rafe.  "  It's  Tan 
and  Salt's  express  cart,  for  us,  marm  !  " 

Now  the  Salt  family  had  never  had  an  express 


72  THE  MADONNA    OF   THE   TUBS. 

package  in  all  their  lives.  So  intense  was  the  ex 
citement  for  the  moment  that  it  was  almost  impos 
sible  to  remember  that  one's  father  was  drowned. 
They  gathered  like  bees  about  the  box,  which  the 
driver  lifted  in  for  them  compassionately ;  even 
stopping  to  help  Emma  Eliza  start  the  cover. 

"  Seein'  ye  're  only  women-folks  —  of  a  Christ 
mas  Eve.  And  never  in  my  life  did  I  see  a  woman 
could  open  a  wooden  box.  Guess  ye  'd  have  to  set 
on  it  all  night  if  I  did  n't  —  and  no  man  else  to  do 
for  ye" - 

But  Tan  and  Salt's  express  checked  himself,  and 
departed  hastily  from  the  loosened  cover  and  un 
finished  sentence,  letting  in  a  whirl  of  the  now  fall 
ing  snow  as  he  closed  the  rattling  door.  He  wished, 
with  all  his  soul,  he  had  time  to  fix  that  latch. 

Now  in  that  box  —  what  mystery  !  what  marvel ! 
Emma  Eliza  thought  it  was  like  a  "  Seaside  "  novel. 
Rafe  had  read  fairy  tales,  and  he  considered  it 
probable  that  it  was  the  work  of  what  he  called 
"  a  genii,"  that  flannels  and  shoes,  and  a  second 
hand  overcoat,  and  mittens,  and  a  black  blanket 
shawl,  should  land  on  the  floor,  with  flour  and  cof 
fee  and  crackers,  and  a  package  of  tea  and  sugar, 
and  rubbers  for  Sue,  and  a  turkey  for  Christmas 


THE  MADONNA    OF  THE   TUBS.  73 

dinner,  and  under  all  —  stockings!  There  were  six 
pairs  of  stockings  —  brown,  red,  blue,  green,  gray, 
and  white,  each  one  filled  to  the  knee  with  Santa 
Glaus  knew  what  —  trifles  to  the  giver,  ecstasy  to 
the  child  —  all  the  way  down  from  Emma  Eliza  to 
the  baby,  and  the  other  baby.  Ah,  well,  such 
things  do  happen,  thank  the  blessed  Christmas 
spirit,  in  the  homes  of  the  brave  and  self-helping 
poor ;  they  do  not  perhaps  often  happen  so  grace 
fully,  we  might  say  so  artistically. 

"  So  pretty,"  cried  Rafe  —  "  so  pretty  in  her." 
For  when  the  romance  of  the  expressman  was  fol 
lowed  by  the  immensity  of  a  smart  Fairharbor  hack 
rolling  under  the  leafless  willows  to  the  very  door, 
and  Rafe,  pulling  back  the  wash-bench  again,  let 
in,  with  a  shower  of  bright  snow,  Miss  Helen  Rit- 
ter,  standing  tall  and  splendid  in  her  furs  of  silver- 
seal,  it  seemed  quite  what  was  to  be  expected ;  and 
not  one  of  the  poor  souls  knew,  which  was  the  best 
of  it,  that  the  young  lady  had  never  done  such  a 
thing  before  in  all  her  life.  She  had  done  it  now  in 
her  own  "way"  —  that  whimsical,  obstinate,  lavish 
way  that  sometimes  was  so  wrong  and  sometimes  so 
right,  but  this  time  so  sweet  and  true.  Was  it  her 
heart  that  told  her  how  ?  For  her  head  was  pain- 


74  THE  MADONNA    OF  THE   TUBS. 

fully  uneducated  in  sociology.  She  had  not  a  par 
ticle  of  training  as  a  visitor  to  the  poor.  She  had 
not  a  theory  as  to  their  elevation.  She  had  never 
been  interested  in  books  concerning  their  manage 
ment.  She  was  simply  acquainted  with  her  washer 
woman,  and  had  approached  her  as  she  would  any 
other  acquaintance,  according  to  the  circumstances 
of  the  case.  It  was  a  brave,  self -helpful  family ; 
she  knew  them ;  not  a  drop  of  pauper  blood  rolled 
in  the  veins  of  their  sturdy  bodies.  Ghastly  poverty 
had  got  them ;  worse  was  before  them  ;  but  if  any 
desolate  woman  and  her  babes,  thrust  into  their  fate, 
could  breast  it  and  not  go  under,  these  were  they. 

As  a  human  being  to  human  beings,  Helen  Ritter 
had  come ;  she  knew  no  more,  nor  thought  beyond. 
She  had  felt  moved  to  treat  them  as  she  would  wish 
to  be  treated  in  their  places,  and  she  did  as  she  was 
moved ;  that  was  all.  If  she  made  no  blunder,  it 
was  certainly  owing  to  the  rightness  of  her  in 
stinct,  not  to  the  wisdom  of  her  views. 

But  who  stopped  to  think  of  views  or  instincts 
in  the  astounded  cottage  that  Christmas  Eve  ?  Not 
Miss  Ritter,  stooping,  flushed  and  brilliant,  drawn 
down  by  children's  fingers  to  her  knees  upon  the 
kitchen  floor  among  the  Christmas  litter.  Not  Raf  e, 


THE  MADONNA  OF  THE  TUBS.       77 

who  put  up  his  pale  face  and  kissed  her,  saying  not 
a  word.  Not  Emma  Eliza,  who  meant  to  ask  her 
to  play  a  Christmas  carol  on  the  instrument,  think 
ing  that  would  be  polite.  (The  instrument,  by  the 
way,  was  drearily  seeking  a  purchaser,  poor  thing.) 
Not  Sue,  nor  Tommy,  nor  the  baby,  nor  the  other 
baby,  pulling  off  the  veil  which  had  shielded  the 
feathers  of  their  visitor's  dainty  bonnet  from  the 
snow.  Not  Mrs.  Salt,  who  came  up  to  take  her  fur- 
lined  cloak  with  a  soft,  "  You  '11  be  too  warm,  my 
dear,"  and  so  showing  all  the  stately,  luxurious  out 
lines  of  the  finest  figure  she  had  ever  "  done  up," 
in  that  sweet  and  humble  attitude,  kneeling  on  the 
kitchen  floor.  Not  Mrs.  Salt,  stealing  away  by  her 
self,  silent,  still,  and  changed,  and  strange  —  she 
had  scarcely  spoken.  What  ailed  her  ?  What 
would  she  ?  Where  was  she  ?  Helen  Ritter,  unin- 
troduced  to  mortal  sorrow,  hesitated  before  the  be 
reavement  of  her  washer-woman,  but  summoned 
heart  at  last,  and  followed,  slipping  from  the  chil 
dren's  arms. 

Ellen  Jane  Salt  was  in  her  chilly  parlor,  crouched 
alone  ;  she  had  got  into  a  corner  bent  over  some 
thing,  and  when  Miss  Ritter  came  up  she  was  half 
shocked  to  see  that  it  was  the  black  blanket  shawl. 


78  THE  MADONNA    OF  THE   TUBS. 

"  I  did  n't  know  what  ever  I  was  to  do  for 
mournin'  for  him  !  "  The  woman  looked  up,  break 
ing  out  thus  sharply.  "  You  've  no  idea  how  they 
talk  about  us  Fairharbor  widows,  we  so  poor,  they 
say,  and  takin'  charity  to  spend  it  on  our  black  — 
and  reason,  maybe ;  but  ask  'em  if  it 's  human 
natur  to  break  your  heart  and  mourn  your  dead 
in  colors.  Ask  'em  if  bein'  poor  puts  out  human 
natur.  Miss  Eitter,  I  had  n't  nothin'  to  mourn  for 
Henry  in  but  this  one  old  dress  I  dyed  before  my 
money  went  to  Biram  for  the  rent,  and  my  cloak 
was  a  tan-color  season  before  last,  and  trimmed  with 
bugle  trimmin',  and  my  shawl  was  a  striped  shawl, 
with  red  betwixt,  you  know.  And  us  without  our 
coal  in,  me  going  mournin'  for  my  husband  half 
black,  half  colors,  like  a  widow  that  was  half  glad 
and  half  sorry — enough  of  'em  be  —  my  dear,  it 
hurt  me.  And  to  think  you  should  think  of  that, 
and  send  me  of  a  Christmas  Eve  —  Oh,  my  dear, 
I  have  n't  cried  before,  but  it 's  the  understanding 
me  that  breaks  me  up.  Oh,  don't  notice  me,  don't 
mind  me.  I  have  n't  cried  since  he  was  drowned  ; 
I  have  n't  darst.  Oh,  don't  you  touch  me  —  oh 
yes,  you  may.  How  soft  your  arms  are !  Oh,  no 
body  has  held  me  since  he  —  Oh,  my  God  !  my 
God  !  my  God  !  I  've  got  to  cry." 


THE  MADONNA  OF  THE  TUBS.       79 

"  Come  here,"  said  Helen  Hitter,  sobbing  too  — 
"  come  here  and  let  me  hold  you,  and  tell  me  all 
about  it." 

"How  can  I  tell  you?"  moaned  the  woman. 
"  Oh,  it  is  such  a  dreadful  thing  to  tell !  Oh,  my 
dear,  it  is  n't  his  dying ;  it  is  n't  that  Henry  is 
dead.  If  that  was  all,  I'd  be  a  blessed  woman  — 
me  a  widow,  and  them  fatherless,  and  so  poor  — 
I  'd  be  a  blessed  woman ;  and  God  be  thanked  to 
mercy  this  living  night  if  it  was  only  that  my  hus 
band  had  died  !  Oh,  how  should  you  know  ?  You 
never  was  married  ;  you  never  had  a  husband  ;  you 
never  quarreled  with  the  man  you  loved." 

"  Hush  !  hush  !  hush  !  "  Involuntarily  the  lady 
thrust  her  hand  upon  the  other  woman's  mouth ; 
then  drew  it  off  and  patted  her  silently,  stroking 
her  hair  and  shoulders  with  exquisite  loving  mo 
tions,  as  women  do  to  women  of  their  own  sort 
when  sorrow  is  upon  them. 

"We  quarreled,"  cried  Ellen  Jane  Salt,  throw 
ing  out  her  arms,  and  letting  them  drop  heavily  at 
her  side  — "  we  quarreled,  Miss  Bitter,  that  very 
last  night,  that  very  last  minute,  him  and  me  —  us 
that  loved  each  other,  man  and  wife,  for  seventeen 
years,  and  him  going  to  his  death  from  out  that 

n 


80       THE  MADONNA  OF  THE  TUBS. 

door.  '  Oh,'  he  says,  '  there  's  always  something 
wrong  about  this  house  ! '  and  he  cursed  it ;  but  he 
didn't  mean  it,  poor  fellow;  he  never  meant  it; 
for  they  must  have  treated  him  to  the  wharves  to 
make  him  say  a  thing  like  that  —  you  know  they 
must ;  and  I  says,  <  There  's  nothing  wrong  in  this 
house  but  him  that 's  setting  sail  from  it.'  My 
God  !  my  God !  my  God  !  I  says  those  words  to 
him  at  the  very  last ;  and  he  "  — 

"  Marm,  I  told  him  you  was  sorry."  Rafe  pulled 
her  by  the  dyed  black  sleeve.  The  little  fellow's 
face  worked  pathetically.  He  did  not  know  before 
that  he  could  not  bear  it  to  see  his  mother  cry. 
"  I  think,  I  believe,  I  'm  pretty  sure"  said  Rafe, 
"  that  my  fa— ther  told  me,  '  So  be  /.'  " 

Helen  Ritter  drew  the  child  into  her  free  arm, 
and  so  held  him,  sick  at  heart,  for  in  that  supreme 
moment  the  widowed  wife  seemed  to  have  gone 
deaf  and  blind ;  she  did  not  notice  even  Rafe. 

"What's  death,"  cried  Ellen  Jane,  lifting  her 
wan  face  to  heaven,  and  sinking  with  a  sickening, 
writhing  motion  to  her  knees,  —  "  what 's  death,  if 
that  was  all,  to  man  and  wife  that  love  each  other  ? 
I  've  been  cold  since  Henry  died,  and  I  've  gone 
hungry  —  don't  let  on  to  the  children,  for  they 


THE  MADONNA    OF  THE   TUBS.  81 

don't  know  —  and  I  'd  be  cold  and  hungry  ;  and  i£ 
I  was  to  starve,  what 's  that  ?  And  if  I  mourned 
and  cried  for  him,  us  partin'  kind,  why,  what  is 
that  ?  It 's  the  words  between  us  !  —  oh,  it 's  the 
words  between  us  !  I  dream  'em  in  my  dreams,  I 
hear  'em  in  the  wind,  I  hear  'em  at  the  instrument 
when  the  children  sing  —  it 's  the  words  between 
us  !  Him  that  courted  me  and  wedded  me,  the 
baby's  father  —  and  we  loved  each  other,  and  we 
come  to  words  that  last,  last  minute,  him  going  to 
his  death  !  My  God  !  my  God  !  my  God  !  " 

"  Miss  Ritter,  dear,  what  am  I  sayin'  ?  Send  the 
children  off.  Crying,  Rafe?  Don't,  dear.  There! 
mother's  sonny  boy ;  come  here.  Don't,  Rafe, 
don't.  Yes,  I  '11  come  and  see  the  Christmas  stock 
ings.  Let  me  be  a  minute.  Go,  Miss  Ritter,  with 
'em,  if  you  '11  be  so  good.  Kiss  me,  Rafe.  Moth 
er  '11  come  presently,  my  son.  Let  me  be  a  minute, 
won't  you,  by  myself." 

They  went  and  left  her,  as  they  were  bidden, 
•every  one.  Somebody  shut  the  door  of  the  chilly 
parlor,  not  quite  to,  and  so  shielded  her  in  for  a 
little,  yet  did  not  shut  her  off  alone ;  they  could 
not  bear  to. 

Helen  Ritter  gathered  the   children  about  her, 


82  THE  MADONNA   OF  THE   TUBS. 

among  the  presents  and  playthings,  but  it  was  hard. 
Christmas  had  gone  out  of  the  fatherless  house. 
It  was  not  easy  for  sorrow  to  play  at  Christmas  Eve. 
Rafe  tried  to  entertain  the  lady.  He  told  her  he 
was  going  to  support  the  family.  He  told  her  how 
he  sat  as  model  to  the  gentleman  who  painted  up 
at  the  hotel,  and  Miss  Ritter  asked  about  the  pic 
tures,  and  a  little  about  the  painter,  but  not  so 
much,  and  so  they  chatted  quietly. 

"Ready,  mother?"  called  Rafe,  at  the  half-shut 
door. 

"  Presently,  my  son." 

"  Coming,  mother  ?  "  begged  Emma  Eliza. 

"  Tumin',  mummer  ?  "  called  the  other  baby. 

"  In  a  minute,  yes,  my  dears." 

"  Mother,  Miss  Ritter  says  she  's  found  somebody 
to  .buy  the  instrument.  Mother,  Miss  Ritter  says 
she  wants  an  instrument.  She  says  she  '11  give  a 
hundred  and  twenty-five  dollars  for  it.  She  says 
she  wants  an  instrument  very  much.  Coming, 
mother?" 

"  Yes,  my  child." 

Just  as  she  came  out  among  them,  quiet  again, 
and  gentle  with  her  strange,  dull  gentleness,  and 
stood  so,  a  little  apart  from  them,  looking  on,  Rafe 


THE  MADONNA    OF   THE   TUBS.  83 

got  up  and  went  to  his  window,  where  the  curtain 
hung  half  drawn  (half-mast,  they  called  it),  and 
looked  out.  It  was  snowing  fiercely.  The  lights 
of  the  near  hotel  showed  through  the  white  drift. 
Emma  Eliza  would  walk  over  with  Miss  Bitter  when 
she  had  to  go.  Miss  Ritter  said  she  liked  a  little 
snow.  How  heavy  was  the  calling  of  the  sea  !  It 
was  like  the  chords  of  a  majestic,  mighty  organ 
built  into  the  walls  of  the  world. 

The  children  chattered  about  the  artists,  and 
pointed  out  their  rooms  yonder,  specks  of  light  in 
the  dark  hotel.  Miss  Ritter  paid  little  attention 
to  the  artists.  She  was  watching  Mrs.  Salt  —  and 
Rafe. 

What  ailed  Rafe  ? 

The  child  had  been  standing  with  his  face  pressed 
against  the  window  where  the  curtain  hung  at  half- 
mast  ;  his  yellow  hair  falling  forward  looked  like  a 
little  crown.  As  he  stood  he  began  to  croon  and 
hum  below  his  breath. 

"He  hasn't  sung  that  one  before  since  father" 
—  whispered  Emma  Eliza,  but  stopped,  sobbing. 
Rafe  was  humming  "  Pull  for  the  Shore." 

But  what  ailed  Rafe  ?  He  drew  away  from  the 
window ;  the  boy  had  turned  quite  pale  ;  and  yet 


84  THE  MADONNA    OF   THE   TUBS. 

it  could  not  be  said  that  his  transparent,  delicate 
face  showed  fear.  He  went  up  slowly  to  his 
mother,  and  pulled  her  black  dress. 

"  Marm,  I  see  my  fa — ther." 

He  pointed  to  the  window,  against  which  the 
storm  pelted  fast  and  furious. 

"  I  've  frightened  you,  Rafe,"  said  the  mother, 
quietly.  She  had  her  great  good  sense.  No  one 
should  allow  her  children  to  be  afraid  of  their 
father  as  if  he  were  a  vulgar  ghost.  She  patted 
Rafe,  kissed  him,  and  said,  "  Rafe  must  n't  say 
such  things." 

"  Marm,"  persisted  the  boy,  "  I  saw  my  fa — 
ther." 

"  It 's  the  snow,  Rafe,  you  see  ;  it 's  so  white  — 
like  him.  Rafe  must  not  talk  like  silly  people. 
Dead  folks  can't  be  seen  by  little  boys.  There  ! 
There  's  that  old  latch  again,  Rafe.  How  it  acts ! 
Go  and  fix  it,  dear." 

Like  a  child  Rafe  obeyed,  but  like  a  spirit  he 
pondered,  for  Rafe  had  his  dual  life  like  the  rest 
of  us.  Was  it  vulgar  to  see  ghosts  ?  Clearly  it 
was  necessary  to  push  the  wash-bench  against  the 
door;  and  though  he  looked  like  a  spirit,  he  pushed 
like  a  boy.  With  his  knee  upon  the  bench,  with 


THE  MADONNA    OF   THE   TUBS.'  85 

his  hand  upon  the  latch  —  But  this  was  the  mo 
ment  when  the  child's  shrill  cry  sounded  and  re 
sounded  through  the  house  :  — 

"  Oh,  marm,  I  've  got  my  fa — ther  ! " 
And,  corpse  or  ghost  or  man,  Henry  Salt  pushed 
in  the  door,  hurled  over  the  wash-bench,  brushed 
aside  Miss  Ritter,  strode  over  the  children,  and 
hearing,  seeing,  knowing  nothing  else,  if  alive  or 
dead,  whether  in  earth  or  heaven,  he  took  his  wife, 
in  her  black  dress,  into  his  arms. 


OR  the  most  part,  as  we  all 
know,  such  things  are 
dreamed  of.  In  Fairharbor 
they  happen.  The  material 
of  novelists  and  poets  and  playwrights,  elsewhere 
woven  of  air  or  webbed  of  fancy  to  appease  the 
burning  human  desire  for  "  a  good  ending "  to 
a  smart  fiction,  becomes  in  Fairharbor,  now  and 
then,  by  God's  ingenious  will,  the  startling  fact. 

The  sea  had   given  up  her  dead.     One  month 
reckoned  of  the  solemn  number,  Henry  Salt,  like 


86  THE  MADONNA    OF   THE   TUBS. 

fishermen  before  him  and  fishermen,  please  God,  to 
come  after  him,  tossed  by  the  vagaries  of  the  sea 
and  her  toilers,  had  breasted  his  way  to  life  and 
love. 

He  was  a  man  of  sparse  words,  except  when  in 
liquor  or  in  temper,  and  he  took  but  few,  slowly 
spoken,  and  with  the  feint  of  carelessness  or  stolid 
ity  used  by  men  of  his  kind  to  mask  the  rare  and 
so  confusing  emotions  of  a  lifetime,  to  tell  his  short, 
true  tale :  — 

"  We  was  lost  in  the  fog  and  drove  by  the 
weather,  and  we  was  picked  up  six  days  to  sea  by 
a  trader  bound  to  Liverpool.  That  Js  all.  Her 
name  was  the  Rose  of  the  West  —  derned  silly 
name  for  a  merchantman.  She  took  me  an'  kep' 
me  —  for  my  dory  mate  was  frozen,  and  him  she 
heaved  overboard  —  till  she  hailed  the  Van  Deusen- 
eock,  of  New  York  city,  homeward  bound.  And 
that 's  about  all.  The  Van  Deusencock  she  took 
me,  and  she  got  in  at  midnight,  so  I  took  the  train 
to  Boston,  for  I  'd  lost  the  boat  —  she  'd  'a  ben 
cheaper.  Have  you  got  a  piece  of  squash  pie  in 
the  house  ?  I  'm  hungry.  I  'm  glad  to  get  home." 

The  fisherman  paused  with  a  final  air,  and  if  left 
to  himself  it  is  doubtful  if  he  would  have  added 


THE  MADONNA  OF  THE  TUBS.       87 

another  word  to  his  story  from  that  day  to  this. 
Men  of  the  sea  are  not  so  fond  as  traditionally  be 
lieved  of  detailing  their  thrilling  escapes.  They 
suffer  too  much,  and  it  is  comfortable  to  forget, 

"  Well  —  yes/'  reluctantly,  "I  said  my  dory  mate 
was  froze.  I  did  n't  say  who  he  was.  I  've  no  ob 
jections,  as  I  know  of ;  only  I  hate  to  think  of  him. 
Job  Ely  was  my  dory  mate.  Yes.  We  was  to 
gether  to  see  to  our  trawls,  and  we  drifted  off  in 
the  fog  —  you  could  'a  cut  it  with  a  dull  bread- 
knife  !  —  and  we  could  n't  find  our  way  back  to 
the  Abby  E.  Salt ;  and  that 's  all.  I  hate  to  think 
on  't,  because  he  died  first. 

"  There  was  a  bite  of  ship-bread  and  water  we 
had  aboard  the  dory  agin  accident  —  I  like  to  have 
something — so  they  kep'  me.  But  it  was  almighty 
cold.  Don't  you  remember  the  spell  o'  weather  come 
along  about  Thanksgiving  ?  Well,  Job  Ely  froze. 
He  froze  to  death.  So  I  had  to  do  the  rowin'. 
But  I  kep'  him,  for  I  reckoned  his  mother  'd  like 
to  hev  the  body.  I  thought  I  'd  make  shore  along 
some  o'  them  desarted  beaches.  So  I  kep'  him,  but 
I  covered  his  face,  and  I  could  n't  make  shore,  and 
it  was  God  A'mighty  cold.  I  rowed  for  six  days 
—  nigh  to  seven.  I  like  to  died  —  Nelly  Jane, 


88  THE  MADONNA    OF  THE   TUBS. 

don't  take  on  so  !  Don't,  my  girl !  Set  in  my 
lap  awhile  —  never  mind  the  children.  Why,  how 
you  do  shake  and  tremble  !  Why,  look  a-here  !  I 
DID  N'T  DO  IT.  I  'm  a  livin'  man.  I  've  got  you 
in  these  here  arms.  Bless  the  girl !  Emma  Eliza, 
what  ails  your  marm?  Has  she  took  on  this  way 
all  this  while  —  for  me?  How  peaked  she  looks, 
and  pale  and  sailer  —  kind  o'  starved  !  There, 
Nelly  Jane  !  Give  me  a  mite  o'  suthin'  for  her, 
can't  you?  She  dooz  look  starved.  Don't  want 
nothin'  but  a  kiss  ?  Here 's  twenty  of  'em !  Who 
ever  heard  of  a  woman  bein'  starved  for  kisses? 
Why,  what  a  girl  you  be  !  Why,  this  is  like  court- 
in'  —  old  married  folk  like  us.  Why,  sho !  I 
don't  know  but  it 's  wutli  a  man's  dyin'  and  comin' 
to  life  to  court  his  own  widder  —  this  way. 

"  Well,  yes,  I  did  get  pretty  cold.  Fact  is,  I 
froze  my  hands  —  froze  'em  stiff.  Fort'nate  they 
friz  to  the  oars,  so  I  kep'  a-rowin'.  Time  agin  I 
give  out,  and  like  to  lay  down  alongside  poor  Job 
and  give  it  up  ;  but  then  they  was  friz  to  the  oars, 
so  I  had  to  keep  a-rowin'.  Cur'ous  thing,  now. 
One  night,  that  last  night  before  I  sighted  the  Rose 
of  the  West,  I  was  nigh  about  gone.  You  can't 
think  how  sick  I  was  o'  the  sight  o'  Job  —  he 


THE  MADONNA    OF   THE   TUBS.  89 

looked  so.  But  I  could  n't  bear  to  heave  him  over. 
Well,  that  night  —  I  tell  you  the  Sunday  mornin' 
truth  —  I  heerd  Rafe  singin'  and  Emma  Eliza  play- 
in'  to  him  on  the  instrument,  and  I  heerd  Rafe 
sing  :  — 

'Pull  for  the  shore,  fa— ther.' 

I  heerd  him  plain  as  judgment,  with  the  girl  j'inin' 
in  the  chorus.  But  I  heerd  Rafe  quite  plain  and 
loud, 

*  Pull  for  the  shore,  fa — ther,  pull  for  the  shore  ! ' 

Cur'ous,  wa'n't  it  ?  How  9d  that  hymn-time  know 
her  chart,  navigatin'  all  them  waters  after  me  ? 
Say  ?  I  heerd  her.  She  need  n't  tell  me.  I  heerd 
my  little  son  singin'  to  his  father  —  me  's  good  as 
a  dead  man  —  and  by  the  livin'  God  I  up  an' 
pulled  ! 

"  What  did  you  say,  Rafe  ?  I  don't  know.  My 
hands  was  froze.  Can't  say  what  I  can  do  for  a 
livin'  with  'em  till  I  've  tried.  Have  to  stay  ashore, 
maybe.  I  hain't  got  so  far  as  that.  I  don't  mind 
my  hands,  so  's  I  've  got  my  folks. 

"  What  did  I  holler  back  the  night  I  went  away  ? 
I  don'  know  's  I  know.  You  mean  the  night  me 
and  your  marm  had  words  ?  I  had  n't  oughter  had 
'em.  I  thought  on  't  a  sight.  I  hoped  she  'd  for- 


90  THE  MADONNA    OF  THE   TUBS. 

get  'em.  I  kinder  thought  she  would.  '  So  be  If ' 
I  don't  remember  sayin'  (  So  be  /.'  I  misremember, 
Rafe.  Guess  it  must  'a  ben  —  yes,  yes  —  sure 
enough.  Sho  !  Yes,  yes.  I  was  a-callin'  to  poor 
Job  —  him  ahead  of  me,  for  I  was  late  —  I  says, 
<  Job  Ely!  Job  Ely!'  8*1*1." 

"  I  never  says  I  knew  you  says  so,  fa — ther.  I 
says,  I  think,  I  believe  he  said,  '  So  be  I.'  I 
wanted  to  say  I  knew  you  says  so,  fa-^-ther." 

"  I  'd  oughter,  Rafe.     But  I  'm  afraid  I  did  n't." 

"  Fa — ther,  did  you  hear  me  say" —  But  Rafe 
stopped.  He  could  not  ask  his  father,  "  Did  you 
hear  me  say,  '  Marm  says  she  's  sorry '  ?  "  The  fine 
instinct  of  the  fisherman's  child  was  equal  to  that 
emergency.  Rafe  did  not  ask  the  question,  and 
never  will. 

"  Fa — ther,"  once  again.  Rafe  came  up  and 
leaned  against  the  big  wooden  rocking-chair  wherein 
the  two  sat  "  courting "  —  the  massive,  puzzled, 
tender  man,  the  little  woman,  laughing  and  crying 
in  her  widow's  dress.  "  Fa — ther,  what  did  you 
think  about,  when  you  thought  you  'd  be  froze  and 
drownded  —  all  that  time  ?  " 

"My  son,"  said  Henry  Salt,  after  a  long  silence, 
which  nobody,  not  even  the  baby,  or  the  other 


THE  MADONNA  OF  THE  TUBS.       91 

baby,  seemed  to  care  or  dare  to  break  —  "  my  son, 
/  thought  about  your  poor  mother.  I  see  that 
latch  wants  a  screw/'  added  the  fisherman,  in  his 
leisurely,  matter-of-fact  voice.  "  I  guess  I  '11  fix  it 
after  you  've  warmed  the  pie  up,  Ellen  Jane." 

But  Emma  Eliza,  whether  from  such  excess  of 
earthly  blessedness  as  to  lead  her  to  fear  that  one's 
heavenly  prospects  might  be  slighted,  or  whether 
from  some  vague  sense  of  saying  her  prayers,  or 
whether  solely  out  of  respect  for  the  instrument, 
will  never  be  known,  danced  madly  to  that  melo 
dious  member  of  the  family,  and  wailed  out  the 
general  ecstasy  in  the  lugubrious  strains  of  "  The 
Sweet  By-and-by." 


UT  I  never  thought  of  its  being  you." 
Helen  Ritter,  confronted  in  the  ejitry  of 
the  big  empty  summer  hotel  by  that  timely  artist 
whose  need  of  models  had  made  Rafe  the  proud 
support  of  a  fatherless  family,  dashed  out  these 


92       THE  MADONNA  OF  THE  TUBS. 

words  too  impetuously  to  be  recalled.  "  Ton  !  and 
here  again  ! "  She  was  dazzling  with  snow  and 
color.  She  would  have  drawn  herself  to  her  full 
height  splendidly,  but  his  was  higher.  In  that 
gloomy  place,  by  the  light  of  the  lonely  and  smoky 
kerosene  lamp  swinging  from  the  cold  ceiling,  it 
seemed  indeed  as  if  he  outvied  her  in  splendor. 
As  she  looked  up,  it  was  as  if  his  mere  physical 
presence  would  break  her  heart  and  grind  it  to 
powder  —  it  was  so  long  since  she  had  seen  him. 

Their  eyes  clashed,  retreated,  advanced,  united, 
and  held  gloriously.  They  defied  each  other,  they 
adored  each  other,  taunted  and  blessed,  challenged 
and  yielded,  blamed  and  forgave,  wounded  and  wor 
shiped,  as  only  a  few  men  and  women  may  in  all 
the  world,  and  love  the  better  for  it.  The  story 
of  years  was  told  without  a  word ;  the  secret  of 
anguish  was  said  in  silence;  the  torrent  of  joy 
poured  past  dumb  lips,  and  there  by  the  winter  sea, 
on  a  Christmas  Eve,  in  the  dismal  hotel  entry,  by 
the  light  of  the  smoky  kerosene,  two  souls  without 
speech  or  language  met,  perhaps  for  the  first  time 
in  all  their  lives. 

"  I  saw  you  through  the  window  over  there,"  he 
stammered,  rapturously.  "  Oh,  I  saw  you  holding 


THE  MADONNA  OF  THE  TUBS.       93 

the  woman  in  your  arms,  and  the  child  came  up 
and  kissed  you.  Why,  I  heard  you  sob.  I  was 
mean  enough  to  listen.  And  I  said,  '  Why,  she  's 
a  tender  woman.  She  never  could  have  meant  — 
She  would  forgive.'  We  misunderstood  each  other 
somehow,  Helen.  For  Love's  sake  give  me  the 
right  to  find  out  how." 

"  Oh,"  said  Helen  Hitter,  lifting  her  arms  with 
a  gentle  and  beautiful  motion  that  might  well  have 
set  a  calmer  man  beside  himself,  "  she  told  me  I  had 
never  quarreled  with  the  —  man  I  —  loved." 


When  they  moved  to  shut  the  hotel  door  —  for 
the  snow  was  drifting  in  —  and  so  stood  for  a  mo 
ment  between  the  storm  without  and  the  shelter 
within,  Rafe  and  Emma  Eliza  at  the  instrument 
were  singing  shrilly, 


'Give  the  wind  time 
To  blow  the  man  home  ! 


It  seemed  that  Henry  Salt  had  picked  up  another 


94 


THE  MADONNA    OF  THE   TUBS. 


verse  to  this  long-suffering  song  upon  the  voyage, 
for,  past  the  bowlders,  over  the  thickets,  under  the 
willows,  through  the  snow,  borne,  not  drowned,  by 
the  paean  of  the  organ  of  the  sea,  thus  roundly  on 
the  gale  his  bass  trolled  forth  :  — 

"Give  your  life  time 
To  blow  the  heart  home  ! " 

"  I  want  to  sing  it  too,"  said  Helen  Bitter.  He 
to  whom  her  lightest  wish  was  dearest  law  drew 
her  furs  about  her,  and  led  her  out  into  the  storm ; 
where,  standing  hand  in  hand,  unseen,  unheard, 
they  joined  their  voices  to  the  fisher-people's,  and 
sang  the  wise,  sweet  words. 


/  \ 


RETURN  TO  the  circulation  desk  of  any 
University  of  California  Library 
or  to  the 

NORTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 
Bldg.  400,  Richmond  Field  Station 
University  of  California 
Richmond,  CA  94804-4698 

ALL  BOOKS  MAY  BE  RECALLED  AFTER  7  DAYS 
2-month  loans  may  be  renewed  by  calling 

(415)642-6233 
1-year  loans  may  be  recharged  by  bringing  books 

to  NRLF 
Renewals  and  recharges  may  be  made  4  days 

prior  to  due  date 

DUE  AS  STAMPED  BELOW 

*WENRIF     MflY  24  1987 


AUG101988 


N?  812123 


PS3142 

Ward,    E.S.P.  M25 

The  Madonna  of  the  tubs. 


LIBRARY 

UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA 
DAVIS 


